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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Cliap..TEZ.l Copyright No. 

Shelf. S2^_B 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








Be still ?iow, he is going to talk with rne 


THE 


Bordentown Story-Tellers 


OR 


LITTLE LADY LUCY AND THE MERRY 
BERRY PICKERS 


How read life’s lessons in one line compiled? 
Learn thou the truth, and teach it to a child. 


/ 

HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH 

Author of 

“ Lost in Nicaragua.” 


BOSTON 

A. I. BRADLEY 

1899 



25395 




^Wr ' ..fu. Htaiveo 

JUL Q& 1900 



Siam COPY. 

D*^ i««r«(4 to 

OROt « OtVtSION, 

JUL 27 1900 


Copyright, 1899, 

By a. I. BRADLEY & CO. 


“not ignorant of evil, I LEARN TO SUCCOR 


THE UNFORTUNATE, 




(Motto placed by Joseph Bonaparte over the Lake House at Bordentown, N. J.^ 





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PREFACE. 


When Lafayette visited this country, 1824-25, 
he was welcomed by schools and the children. 
People are yet living who recall how he was re- 
ceived by the Boston boys with quills in their 
hands. 

The year nineteen hundred is to be a children’s 
year in the history of the influence of Lafayette. 
The schools of America are to dedicate a most 
beautiful monument to his memory, on July 4th, in 
the historic square of liberty in Paris. 

The friendship of children and old people is one 
of the most beautiful associations in life, and this is 
especially so under kindergarten influences. It is 
the purpose of the writer to illustrate this influence 
in the character of Flossie Falaise, the little daugh- 
ter of an old Swiss schoolmaster at Bordentown, 
who is supposed to have attended a country school 
in that bowery town by the waters at the time 
■w^hen Joseph Bonaparte was visited for the first 
time in this country by Lafayette, and when the two 
statesmen received the country folk and the chil- 
dren on that memorable day, greatly to the delight 
of “ Little Lady Lucy,” an old soldier’s widow, who 

5 


6 


PREFACE. 


picked berries in the green pastures of Bordentown, 
near Trenton on the Delaware. 

In the Swiss gardener of Bonaparte’s park the 
book seeks to reproduce some of the most beautiful 
stories of the Swiss kindergarten schools. 

The interpolated stories of Lafayette are true ; 
and those of Joseph Bonaparte, which are repre- 
sented as so greatly pleasing the old people and the 
children, are true to the spirit of the events they 
recall. Both Lafayette at La Grange, France, and 
Joseph Bonaparte in his great mansion and park at 
Point Breeze, Bordentown, New Jersey, amid the 
shining water-ways and green forests of the historic 
associations of Revolutionary days, delighted in 
pleasing children. 

The children’s song of welcome to Lafayette, 

Nous vous aimons,'' was written by Mrs. Sigourney, 
and became the voice of those long-remembered 
school holidays that hailed the return of the friend 
of Washington. 

The writer believes that the development of the 
spiritual life in the soul of a child is the noblest oc- 
cupation in the world, and that the Swiss kinder- 
garten stories tend to this end. The book seeks to 
be a kindergarten influence, and to reproduce soul 
culture stories, such as the writer has met in a study 
in Switzerland and elsewhere, of the results of the 
Swiss school system on national character. 

He was led to the scene of a part of the story by 
reading the following paragraph in Bonaparte Park 
and the Murats ” : 


PREFACE. 


7 


Mr. Bellemere is a pleasant old Frenchman of 
about seventy-three years of age. He keeps a toy 
store in Bordentown, in which can be found almost 
everything in that line. He is a great favorite of 
the juveniles, and is noted for his fair and frank 
dealings.” 

The writer is indebted to Success, and Young 
People's Weekly for courtesy in using matter which 
he had written for those publications. 

Hezekiah Butterworth. 

28 Worcester St., 

Boston, Mass., 

April 14th, ’99. 


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CONTENTS. 


CHAP. PAGE. 

I. Little Lady Lucy 9 

II. Berry-Picking 17 

III. Benji’s Store 21 

IV. Flossie 29 

V. Flossie tells a fairy story to little Lady Lucy in 

the berry pasture 38 

VI. Little Lady Lucy tells a curious story to the 

berry-pickers under the trees at Benji’s store. 47 

VII. Dame Toogood goes to see Pierre Falaise, the 
Swiss Landscape Gardener, about the strange 

conduct of Flossie. . 55 

VIII. Pedagogue Brown of Bordentown 61 

IX. An unexpected reward of merit 64 

X. Pierre Falaise tells the German children’s story 

of the “ Stone Cold Heart ” 69 

XI. Little Lady Lucy under the trees— Joseph Bona- 
parte loves a child— far away 80 

XII. Little Lady Lucy has company in the berry 

pasture 92 

XIII. Little Lady Lucy and Dame Toogood meet in 

the road.— The Woodpecker’s nest and its 
tenant 191 

XIV. Flossie’s Wonders 199 

XV. Pierre’s story of “The Magic Ring,” and the 

Swiss story of “ Wonderful Harry ! ” 113 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. PAGE. 

XVI. French story of the Moor Cow 123 

XVII. Little Lady Lucy’s new Gown 130 

XVIII. Knit, Knit, Knit 142 

XIX. The Prisoner of Olmutz ; or the boy that found 

Lafayette 153 

XX. The Sixth of September — a Dialogue with ta- 
bleaux 168 

XXI. Lady Lucy’s ne\sr Gown — Pierre tells a Wash- 
ington Story. Lady Lucy Faints 182 

XXII. Expectation. A Storyteller from Concord meets 
the berry-pickers — Lafayette pays an old 

hero’s debts. The Owl and the Gun 196 

XXIII. “ Coming ! ” Lady Lucy’s Kindergarten story — 

“Chink, Chink.” 207 

XXIV. “ Welcome, Lafayette ! ” 210 

XXV. Little Lady Lucy forgets 216 

XXVI. Mallard’s Christmas Story. The Iron Box ; or 

the little Witch Foxes of Pringins 222 

XXVII. Citizen Joseph’s Christmas story of the Buried 

Jewels and the Little Prince 229 

XXVIII. Story the Last— The Child of the Mine 238 


THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

LITTLE LADY LUCY. 

Old “ Lady Lucy,” as she was called, or “ Little 
Lady Lucy,” the berry-woman, had very simple 
ideas of life. The world to her was a berry pasture, 
and she peddled berries in summer time, from July 
to November, as “ long^as they lasted,” as she said, 
and she sold them at Bordentown to the good people 
of the farms, or dried them to sell at the store in the 
winter, and she was happy and contented. “ I love 
to live out of doors,” she said, among the birds, 
and hoppergrasses ; trouble dwells in houses, and I 
never feel at home there in summer time. The 
wild roses were her flowers, and the conquiddle 
(bobolink) was her singing bird. 

‘‘ I never harm any snakes, or wiggling things,” 
she used to say, “ the Lord made them all, and the 
world is large enough to hold them and me, and He 
who made the stars knows what He made all things 
for ; I don’t, you don’t ; it is beautiful for anything 
to live.” 


9 


lo THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

She was the widow of a soldier of Valley Forge, 
She had her failings, this same little Lady Lucy 
of the berry pasture. She took snuff ; she believed 
in ghosts, and thought that there were some people 
that could cast an “ evil eye,” and when anything 
happened in the neighborhood she wondered, and 
wondered, and wondered, until she went to the 
heart of the mystery. She couldn’t sleep well with 
unexplained things about her. 

A wonder came to the quiet community of Bor- 
dentown. Coaches came and went away. Then a 
great chateau-like mansion lifted its roofs over the 
water-bright ways, in the shining woods, and a park 
of a thousand acres was made that caused the 
conquiddles to quiver for the safety of their 
nests in the clover, and the crows to caw in the 
broken regions of the cool, dark pines. The park 
invaded the strawberry, whortleberry, and black- 
berry pastures, little Lady Lucy’s own domin- 
ion. 

The stately mansion and the park brought unex- 
pected things to the quiet people of the town and 
disturbed the sleep of Little Lady Lucy. 

This mansion and great park were being made for 
no other personage than Joseph Bonaparte, the 
older brother of Napoleon Bonaparte, the brother 
whom Napoleon loved, and who was faithful to that 
hero of many battlefields through all the years of 
his changeful life. There was one heart that 
Napoleon Bonaparte could trust — it was Joseph’s: 
ex-King Joseph, or Count Joseph Bonaparte, he was 


LITTLE LADY LUCY. 


II 


called then. He wished to be known in America as 
“ Citizen Joseph.” 

When the great house was building, there were 
said to be made underground passages that com- 
municated with mysterious, unknown places. These 
were built for a prince, who married the Count’s 
daughter. They excited the wonder of theBorden- 
town people who had no use for such ways and they 
greatly disturbed the good berry-woman. Most 
people have favorite exclamations that express sur- 
prise. Little Lady Lucy had. It was “Wonder of 
wonders ! hoppergrasses, and conquiddles ! ” One’s 
favorite exclamation like one’s tone of voice reveals 
character, and Little Lady Lucy’s long expression 
was no exception : it showed her curiosity and sincer- 
ity, and love of the natural world. When she raised 
her hood and said “ Conquiddles ! ” something un- 
usual had happened. 

She had occasion to use the exclamation often 
during the building of the ex-king’s mansion, and 
park. 

One long day, in June, all sunshine, roses, birds, 
and butterflies, a coach came dashing down to the 
place where Little Lady Lucy was picking blue- 
berries in the thick bushes by the roadside. She 
started up as she heard the unusual sound of the 
wheels, and her queer figure with her frilled sun- 
bonnet caused the horses to jump aside. The coach- 
man drew them up suddenly, and a portly man in 
the carriage, said kindly : 

“ Is this a good year for berries, mother ? ” 


12 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ Mother ? ” said she, tenderly. “ Well, well, that 
fetches me ! Wonder of wonders ! Conquiddles 
and hoppergrasses ! Be you the king ? ” 

“ I am no longer king, good woman. I am simply 
Citizen Bonaparte, and I have come to be your 
neighbor. I once was king of Naples and of Spain 
— but those days are gone.” 

“ You are the brother of great Napoleon ; they 
say he shook the earth, and was led by a star. I 
suppose he could have two spoonfuls of sugar in his 
tea when he was all so great. I can't afford but one. 
But I’ve fought battles, too, Mr. Bonaparte, here. 
I’ve done some things in my days that in their way 
were matters of consequence, though they wan’t 
anything like being the King of Spain, nor the like 
of that. I snuff the candles at the candlelight 
meeting, — I always do that with brass snuffers. 
Think of that ! And I’ve fought battles as I 
said. The minister rebuked me one night right 
from the pulpit, because I went to sleep in meet- 
ing time. I couldn’t help it. I’d been out watch- 
ing with the sick. Then I declared' my right of 
free speech. I rose right up and answered him, 
and it made all the people stare. I am a soldier’s 
widow — my husband guarded Lafayette at Valley 
Forge. So you see I am a woman of some conse- 
quence.” 

The coach moved on, and little Lady Lucy re- 
turned to the blueberry bushes, saying — 

“ Hoppergrasses and conquiddles, what have I said 
now ? I never feared the face of mortal man, and I 


LITTLE LADY LUCY. 


13 

just let the king that had been know that I was just 
as good as he ! ” 

The ex-king of Naples and Spain was accompa- 
nied by a very amiable looking man, who sat smiling 
kindly when mother Lucy of the berry pasture, as- 
serted her dignity, and informed the brother of 
Napoleon that she, too, was a woman of conse- 
quence. This man’s name was Mallard, or Mallaird, 
and his attachment to Joseph Bonaparte was one 
day to greatly excite the curiosity of the good old 
woman of the berry pasture, who snuffed the lights 
in the “ candle-light meeting.” 

In the making of the great park, Joseph Bona- 
parte had brought to Bordentown one Pierre Fa- 
laise, a Swiss landscape gardener. He needed him 
for flower culture on the lawn. Pierre Falaise had 
been a Swiss schoolmaster and had known Pestalozzi, 
the friend of Froebel, the founder of Kindergarten 
schools. He loved flowers, good old people, and 
little children. He had a lovely little daughter, 
named Flossie. He was a great story-teller, and the 
people here came to like his favorite stories of Swiss 
and German schools. 

It was a curious community — Bordentown — where 
an ex-king, princes, artists, farm-people, school-teach- 
ers, and berry-pickers, all seemed to have one heart, 
one common good-will, and to mingle as one family. 
The neighborhoods here, were never so happy as 
about the time that Lafayette made his second visit 
to this country, in 1824. 

She was an odd character indeed, Little Lady 


14 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


Lucy of the berry pastures. People stood a little 
in awe of her, for she could speak sharply, but 
everybody loved her for her human heart. Did any 
old person, lone and lonely, fall sick. Little Lady 
Lucy would be seen going toward that house, in the 
evening, with her lantern. Did she meet some one 
on her way, she would say — 

“ I had to go— I couldn’t stay away.” 

Was a family afflicted with canker rash, and the 
mother overworked and worn down for want of sleep, 
there. Little Lady Lucy “ had to go ; she could 
not stay away.” 

She held the sickest child in her arms all night 
on occasions like those. She never thought of her- 
self. 

The smallpox came to a lone family who had 
caught it from a sea-chest. There was terror then. 
Who would go to that family ? Little Lady Lucy 
took her lantern, and made her solitary way to the 
family, and she remained there weeks, and did not 
take the disease. 

Were little animals found disabled — she “ had to 
go.” She found them out, and helped them. 

The cats and dogs seemed to know her. The cats 
ran out of the wayside houses to purr at her heels, 
and the dogs seldom barked as she passed. 

Did any one have a secret heartache, that one 
went to Little Lady Lucy. And when death came 
untimely anywhere, she was there to comfort — she 
“ had to go.” She was the first at the sick bed, and 
the last to “ put down ” the earth on the grave. 


Ln TLE LADY LUCY. 


15 


Why did they call her “ Little Lady Lucy of the 
berry pasture ? ” 

Why, when Joseph Bonaparte began to build his 
great white house, after the first house he had occu- 
pied had been burned, and after he had also begun 
to lay out his 1000-acre deer-park, and great people 
from all parts of the country came to visit him 
there, her simple cottage by the wood where the 
wild grapes and clematis grew, and the brook ran 
by, seemed very humble indeed. 

The children thought that the ex-king’s mansion 
made the simple farmhouses near look poor, and 
they told her this one day down in the berry pasture. 

“ But I am content,” said she. “ I never have so 
much as asked for a pension, though I am a soldier’s 
widow. I am glad a king has come to live among 
us ; why should I not be? I would be good to him 
if he were a poor man. I own just as much as Citi- 
zen Joseph.” 

The children all said, “ Oh ! ” 

“ Why, I do. I own the sky as much as he, and 
as much of the sun that makes everything to grow, 
as he does, and the stars, and I can look as far out 
on his park as he can, and he loves to have me en- 
joy it. It makes him happy to make me happy. 
Then I own the good air— the spring air, the summer 
air, the keen air of winter, the same as he. The 
birds come to sing to me in the spring the same as 
they do for him. The flowers bloom for him and 
for me. He has won crowns. I have been scarcely 
able to keep myself in caps, but I have been a lady 


i6 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


to everybody — haven’t I now ? I am Little Lady 
Lucy of the berry pastures, and I am just as happy 
as if all the world were mine. Call me Little Lady 
Lucy. The good Lord has made me as much a 
lady as the fine people at the hall if I do well.” 

So the children called her Lady Lucy, and as she 
was a little woman, they came to speak of her as 

Little Lady Lucy,” for Lucy was a first name. 
She had been Lucy as a little girl, dutiful Lucy, 
and Lucy as a faithful wife to a soldier, and then 
she became Lucy to all good people. The days 
were always happier for her. 


CHAPTER II. 


BERRY-PICKING. 

* 

Little Lady Lucy having no children of her own 
was a foster-mother to all the children of the neigh- 
borhood. She kept a sort of good character school 
in the berry pastures. The children followed her. 
She knew the places where the berries were thick 
and she pointed them out to them. She drove the 
cattle away from the little ones, and carried a bit of 
salve about with her to heal the wounds of those 
unfortunate pickers who were stung by wasps and 
hornets. She had few faults but snuff-taking, and 
her belief in witches, ghosts, and haunted houses, 
and the people pitied her for these infirmities, and, 
because she was honest and truthful, and was happy 
in helping every one, they liked to have the children 
go berrying with her ; they learned “ heaps of good ” 
from the kindly old woman, a good deacon said. 

She was a bit of a philosopher. 

“ I sometimes feel just as I hadn’t ought to, 
she used to say, “ but I help every one, I do, and 
I never hinder any one, no, I don t, and my soul 
is never satisfied unless it is doing some good to some, 
body, or other body. The days that we do good 
2 *7 


i8 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


live again, and I am making for myself days to come. 
The day that we give more than we receive, and 
don’t look for any reward for what we do, that day 
shall live again.” 

Such was Lady Lucy’s philosophy in the berry 
pasture. 

One day occurred a wonder in the same berry 
pasture. 

It was a Saturday school holiday in the fiery 
month of July, when. the fields were being mown, 
and the air was full of the odors of the hay. 

A company of the school children came to the 
walls of Lady Lucy’s berry pasture, singing a very 
strange song. 

Lady Lucy was sitting in a “ thick ” place in the 
whortleberry pasture, picking as for life, and herself 
singing. She had a singing heart. It was a sweet 
old minor tune that she was singing, one at that 
time popular at the “candlelight meetings.” 

“ From whence doth this union arise, 

That hatred is conquered by love.” 

She ceased singing when she heard the children’s 
voices, threw back her “slat” sunbonnet, and 
started up. 

The .children came bounding over the brook 
towards her, seemingly flying, and singing in snatches 
as they came — 

“ Nous vous aimons^ Lafayette ! ” 

She stood up erect on her cane, holding back her 
“ slat ” sunbonnet with its waving frills. 


BERRY-PICKING 


19 


‘^That is a curious song that you are singing — 
lively — where did you pick it up ? It is one of those 
tunes that catches the soul, and flies away with it, 
and makes you feel as though you had lived in some 
other world before. Come under the oak tree with 
me, and sing it over again, while I pick over my 
whortleberries. Then I’ll help you pick. I know 
a place where the whortleberries are real thick ; 
among the blackberry vines. I have been saving 
the place for you. I would rather that you would 
have the thick places than I. I have more time for 
picking.” 

She hobbled along on her cane, her bonnet falling 
back over her shoulders, held by the strings. She 
went to the great cool shadow of the oak, the chil- 
dren following her. They all sat down on the green 
moss. 

“ Now sing me that song again — I’m getting old, 
and I shall never learn any new songs. ‘Bonny 
Boon ’ was the last one I learned to sing — that was 
at a singing-school.” 

The children burst forth into a song that seemed 
to be all spirit and wings. They put their hearts as 
well as their voices into it. 

Little Lady Lucy stopped picking over her berries, 
and listened with wonder. 

“ Conquiddles ! ” She lifted her hands, all stained 
with berries. 

“ Now,” she continued, “ I’ll help you fill your 
berry pails, and when you haye picked all, we will 
sit down under the oak again, and pick over our 


20 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS- 

berries, and you shall tell me all that you know 
about Lafayette. Husband guarded him at Valley 
Forge. I’m a poor old woman, and am ignorant. 
But you are all proper good to me, because I try to 
be good to everybody. This is a good world, where 
two and two make four.” 

They went to the “ thick places,” the children 
singing over and over — “ Pride of princes, strength 
of kings,” and “ Hail him ! Hail him ! ” 

“ I wonder if I really will ever see the great Lafa- 
yette? ” she said. Joseph Bonaparte spoke to me, 
and he has been king twice. Maybe Lafayette will 
speak to me if he comes here- — who knows? 

After an hour among the bushes, they went under 
the oak again, and the children were about to give 
Little Lady Lucy the wonderful account of Lafa- 
yette when Benjamin Bellemere rode down the road, 
and cried — 

“ Come quick, if you wish me to send your berries 
to Philadelphy to-night.” 

Conquiddles ! ” said Lady Lucy, and they all ran 
towards Benji’s store. 



They sa?ig Pride of Princes, strength of Kings 





CHAPTER III. 


BENJI’S STORE. 

Benjamin Bellemere kept a country store at 
the cross-roads of Bordentown, and it was there 
that Little Lady Lucy sometimes sold her berries 
from wild strawberry time until the wild grapes 
were gone, and the storekeeper sent them to Phila- 
delphia. The people called Benjamin Bellemere 
“ Benji,” or Benji, and his place of business, “ Benji’s 
Store." There were great elms in front of it, under 
which were wooden benches where customers might 
rest beside their teams. There was a horse-block 
in the same place, and posts with rings to which to 
hitch horses. These posts had been much eaten by 
horses. 

The elms were magnificent in summer time. 
Golden robins made their pouched nests there and 
sang there, as they flamed about in the sunlight. 

“ Benji’s Store " was the wonder of the country 
round. It was what is called a “ variety store ; " it 
was furnished with goods from Philadelphia, and it 
contained almost everything. Its great windows 
were filled with candy jars, in which were sticks of 
candy of many colors, peppermint candy in pink, 

24 


22 


THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


yellow molasses candy, and hoaVhound candy of a 
bright gray of amber shade. There were pepper- 
mints there as big as the palm of a child’s hand, 
and among the jars were oranges, lemons, and pine- 
apples and cocoanuts in their season. 

As July came, the candy jars were replenished, 
and fireworks, or red crackers in strings, were hung 
above them. Near Christmas time wonderful toys 
and dolls found a place in the window. 

Outside of the door on a long platform were hoes, 
rakes, and scythes in summer, and Franklin stoves 
and fireplace furniture in winter. On the counter 
on the inside were cheeses, and on the shelves back 
of the counter seemed to be everything that 
answered a human need. At the back of the store- 
room were hogsheads of molasses, and casks of vin- 
egar and cider, and there were many barrels. The 
store had an odor of tropical fruit in summer, and 
of salt fish and cheese and dried apples in winter. 
Here people exchanged eggs and produce for “ West 
India goods,” and Benji, the storekeeper, sent these 
products down the river to Philadelphy.” 

There was no news-stand at the universal store, 
but people gathered their news here, and came 
here to impart the wonders of the day and to hear 
of the events that were happening in the world. 

Little Lady Lucy bought the simple things that 
she needed here, and also her snuff, which she did 
not need. She was a “ chipper talker,” as the people 
said, and was given to saying bright, sensible, and 
unexpected things, and her coming anywhere made 


BENJI S STORE. 


23 


a kind of holiday. She was proud of being the 
widow of a guard at Valley Forge, and had a very 
independent spirit. 

When Joseph Bonaparte was building his great 
mansion, and laying out his immense park. Lady 
Lucy had news to tell much of the time. She 
passed the place daily ; to her, the park was a fairy- 
land, and she had daily progress there to report to 
Benji’s store. 

Benjamin Bellemere, the storekeeper at the 
corners, was of French descent, a lively, quick-wit- 
ted man, with a ready sympathy for all men, and 
the coming of Joseph Bonaparte to the place filled 
his heart with pride and delight. Among the chil- 
dren his store was known as the “ candy store,” and 
at Christmas time he was a sort of King of Candy- 
land. 

Joseph Bonaparte, as we have said, became 
“ Citizen Joseph ” here. He visited the store, 
which caused all people, and especially Little Lady 
Lucy, to wonder. Benji, the storekeeper, delighted 
to greet him as the new “ Citizen ” got down from 
his horse under the elms. 

Ex-King Joseph began to be good to all the 
country people, and he touched his hat to Little 
Lady Lucy when he met her on his way to Trenton 
or elsewhere in his coach. 

It must have filled the storekeeper’s heart with 
pride to see Joseph Bonaparte, naturally so reserved 
and dignified, who had won two crowns and after- 
wards refused a crown, so kindly towards all of his 


24 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


honest, simple customers. A French rural influence 
sprung up here, and extended to the towns along 
the Delaware. 

There has seldom been found in America a more 
happy community. It was like Lafayette’s neigh- 
borhood at La Grange, France, for there Lafayette 
took all of the good people into his heart. 

As the berry-pickers came from the pastures one 
day, they sat down to pick over their berries in 
front of Benji’s store under the elms. After this 
work was done. Lady Lucy said — 

“ Novj sing to me that queer song you were sing- 
ing when you came flying into the pasture, tumbling 
over the walls like the conquiddles in the clover of 
June.” 

Farmers came riding up to the store, and hitched 
their horses. Bellemere came out and stood on the 
steps in front of the store among the rakes and 
hoes. 

The children started the song. It did not go ” 
well. Then they started it again to a tuning fork — 

“ Loudly ringing, cheerily singing, 

Lo, the patriot hero comes. 

Great commoner, slighting honor, 

Here the youthful hero came. 

Aiding strangers, braving dangers, 

Human freedom was his aim. 

Troops came prancing — see advancing. 

All Columbia’s sons and daughters. 

Greet the hero lands and waters. 

Streamers streaming, shouts proclaiming 
Far Eiiiid near the hero’s name. 

God of thunder, rend asunder 


BENjrS STORE. 


25 


All the pow’r that tyrants boast. 

What are nations, what their stations, 

When compared with freedom’s host ? 

What are mighty monarchs now, 

While at freedom’s shrine we bow ? 

Pride of princes, strength of kings. 

To the dust fair freedom brings. 

Hail him — hail him — let each exulting band 
Welcome Fayette — to freedom’s happy land. 

All hail him — all hail — all hail him.” 

They sang “ Pride of princes, strength of kings,” 
with such vigor and rapidity as to cause little Lady 
Lucy to rise up and hold up both hands, and when 
they all burst forth with “ Hail him — Hail him ! ” 
her slat bonnet fell over the back of her head, and 
her eyes grew as big as her mouth, and her mouth 
larger than her chin. 

When the children ceased, little Lady Lucy, lean- 
ing on her cane, untied her slat bonnet, and said : 

“ Now I am going to holler — you holler ! ” 

Little Lady Lucy “ hollered ” — 

“ George Washington forever ! ” 

The children’s cry greatly surprised her — 

Nous vous aimons, Lafayette ! ” (We love you, 
Lafayette !) 

Those are foreign words,” she said. “ Who 
taught you to shout in that way ? These were the 
words you sung before. Do you know two songs? 
Who has been teaching you ? ” 

The Swiss teacher ! ” said the children. “ He is 
teaching us.” 

What did he tell you to use those words for ? ” 


26 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ Haven’t you heard ? ” said a little girl, “ haven’t 
you heard, Lady Lucy ? When Lafayette comes 
here, all the schools of New Jersey and Pennsylvania 
are to cheer him as he passes on his way, and we 
are to strew the roads with flowers and say, “ Nous 
vous aimons, Lafayette ! ” 

“You are? Fll help ye. You may have all the 
roses in my yard. I was going to make a conserve 
of them with sugar, so that you might have a taste 
in the winter when you call to see me. But you 
may have them all to strew in the road when Lafa- 
yette comes along. And were you to sing that song 
at him ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, yes.” 

The children sung the last lines of the song 
again : 

“ Hail him ! hail him ! let each exulting band 
Welcome Lafayette to freedom’s happy land ! ” 

“ That is a proper nice song ; it’s got the skies in 
it ; it sings itself just as the bobolinks sing, and 
they learn their songs from nature.” 

“ Is Lafayette coming to Bordentown ? ” asked 
Lady Lucy. 

“Yes,” said one of the older girls, “he is coming 
to see Joseph Bonaparte. He will pass by here. 
But it is not here that we are going to sing the 
song — it is in Philadelphia. We are going down 
the river on a barge to join in the floral procession 
of the schools that are to welcome Lafayette.” 

Little Lady Lucy raised her hands. 


BENjrS STORE. 


27 

Going that far ? Why, people will be there 
thick as blackberries in August ! Conquiddles ! ” 

“ They are going to decorkte fifty acres for the 
people,” said the girl. 

“ Fifty acres — conquiddles ! Why, I should think 
that would hold all the people of the United States ! 
Fifty acres ! ” 

And they are to fire one hundred rounds of 
artillery.” 

“ I would think that would rattle down all the 
windows. I would want to be away out on the 
hills somewhere, and hold my ears ! ” 

“ All the great people are to ride on horses,” con- 
tinued the girl, “ under arches of triumph, and La- 
fayette is to have a splendid barouche, and the Gov- 
ernor of Pennsylvania is to ride with him, and the 
soldiers of the Revolution, and the carriages con- 
taining the soldiers are to have the name of ‘ Wash- 
ington ’ on each of them. And the trades are to 
follow on great platforms on wheels; the printers at 
work, the mechanics, the weavers, the rope-makers, 
the ship-builders, the coopers, and the ’prentice 
boys, and the farmers. The New Jersey cavalry 
are to be there with flying colors. The doings are 
to last three days, and on one of those days the 
schools are to sing. The people are to cry, ‘Lafa- 
yette ! Lafayette!’ and the children, 'Nous vous 
ahnons 

“ Lafayette ! ” shouted Little Lady Lucy. “ I’ll 
begin now. They sha’n’t get ahead of me I Lafa- 
yette will twinkle in every eye, and bring roses to 


28 THE BORDENTOWN STORY -TELLERS. 


every cheek, and beat in every heart, and all the 
city will be just Lafayette. I can see it all in my 
mind’s eye. Husband guarded Lafayette on the 
Delaware (Schuylkill). If I can sell berries enough 
to pay my fare down the river, I mean to go, too, 
and when all the people cry ‘ Lafayette ’ I shall cry 
‘ Lafayette,’ and swing my old slat sunbonnet ; who 
has a better right? But what do you, know about 
Lafayette ? I only know that he fought for us, and 
was a friend of Washington’s, and my own husband 
walked in the snow night after night before his 
headquarters, and his feet were frozen, and bled, 
and left the snows there red ! ”, 

Among the people who often sat down under the 
trees at Benji’s store, was an old French grenadier, 
and one of the survivors of the camp at Valley 
Forge on the Schuylkill — of which Lady Lucy was 
accustomed to call “ on the Delaware.” The grena- 
dier had a wooden leg, and the soldier of Valley 
Forge but one arm. 


CHAPTER IV. 


FLOSSIE. 

There was a Dame school in Bordentown, kept 
by Dame Toogood. She was once simple Miss Lucy 
Goodenough, but she had married Captain Toogood, 
who went to the Spanish Main, and never came 
back. She had been left poor, and so she opened a 

Dame school,” as it was called, for young children. 

She had grown old. She wore a cap now with a 
high border that bobbed. She had a very kind 
heart, but she felt it her duty to be severe at times, 
and, as she said — “ She never failed to do her duty.” 
She kept a tall rod by her side in school hours, 
made of white birch, that wood was “the best,” she 
said. “ There is a virtue in a white birch rod that 
belongs to no other tree,” she added. “ Walnut 
lacks the quality of mercy.” 

One day there appeared at Dame Toogood’s 
school, a little girl by the name of Flora Falaise, all 
curls, and wondering eyes, and lively senses, whose 
questions and answers, and curious ways quite 
amazed our large-hearted teacher as wise and good 
as she was. The children came to call her “ Flossie.” 
She was the daughter of Citizen Joseph’s gardener. 

29 


, 30 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

When she first appeared, she courtesied as she 
entered the door. 

“ Come here, little girl,” said Dame Toogood, 
“ and let me catechize you. I always have cate- 
chized new scholars. Now speak up lively. What 
may your name be ? ” 

“ Flora Falaise, marm.” 

“ Now that is a right pretty name, and where 
were you born ? ” 

“ In Yverdon.” 

“ You don’t say — I never heard of that place 
before. It must be far away.” 

It is on Lake Neuchatel.” 

“ And where is that ? ” 

“ In Switzerland.” 

“ The Alps are there ? ” 

“Yes, marm — I lived under the Jura.” 

“Are the mountains peakeder there than they 
are here ? ” 

“ I do not know, marm. I have never seen any 
mountains here.” 

“ Have you attended school before ? ” 

“ Yes, marm, in Yverdon.’' 

“*How do you spell that word?” 

“ Y-v-e-r-d-o-n.” 

Dame Toogood raised her rod, shook her cap 
border, and said — 

“ Impossible, or else it must be far away. I never 
saw any such place as that in any geography. What 
kind of a school was it that you attended at that 
place that is spelled out at the end of the alphabet ? ” 


FLOSSIE. 


31 

A kindergarten school, marm.” 

Dame Toogood raised her rod again. 

‘‘ I never heard of any school with that name 
before.” 

Our little Swiss girl looked very much surprised, 
and said — 

“ Pestalozzi himself once lived in Yverdon, and 
Froebel went to his school in the castle. I used to 
go to the school in the castle, and I have seen the 
room where Pestalozzi taught Froebel." 

“ What did you say that man’s name was?” 

“ Pestalozzi.” 

Spell it out, just as you did the other name.” 

“ P-e-s-t-a-l-o-z-z-i.” 

“ But Z isn’t T. Who was that man whose name 
ends the alphabet ? ” 

Our little Swiss girl’s eyes grew bluer and she 
lifted them and dropped them as she said — 

“ He was the father of education. He founded 
the public schools of Switzerland. He taught the 
soldiers’ orphan boys. They call him the Apostle 
of Education.” 

“ They do — well I never heard of him before. 
You must know a sight.” 

Our little Swiss girl stood with downcast eyes. 
All of the children began to take an interest in her, 
and the room was as still as it could be. 

“ Let me examine you a little,” said the Dame, 
bending her stick. 

Our little Swiss girl cowered. 

“ Please, marm, what is that ? ” 


32 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ It’s a stick — a correction rod. Didn’t your 
teacher used to have one?” 

I never saw one in school before. It makes me 
afraid. What makes you have it ? ” 

To drive out cats and pigeons and things,” said 
the Dame puzzled. 

“ We let the cats come to school in Yverdon,” 
said our little girl innocently. “ The pigeons were 
our little brothers and sisters. We let them 
stay.” 

Now that could never be nowhere in this world 
of ours. If you are telling me lies, I shall have 
to use the rod on you, though it would hurt me to 
do it.” 

Tears filled the little Swiss girl’s eyes. 

“ I am telling you the truth,” said she. 

“ What, that your teacher let cats and pigeons 
come to school — now it stands to reason that that 
is not so. But I will not punish you for what I 
cannot prove. Now here is the third-class reading 
book. Let me see how well you can read.” 

“ Oh, I cannot read at all ! ” 

“ Cannot read — why, what kind of a little girl can 
you be ? What did you study in your school ? ” 

“ The teacher studied us,” said our Swiss girl. 

What did she do that for ? ” 

“ To see how to train us after our own gifts as 
she said. We were taught habits first, to love, to 
do right, to imagine good things, and we learned 
form and color and things like that before we were 
given books.” 


FLOSSIE. 


33 

The Dame leaned her hand on her chin, and bent 
her rod absently. 

“ And didn’t your teacher ever whip you at all ? ” 

“ No, marm,” said our new-comer with great 
humility. 

“ And you didn’t learn anything?” 

“ Oh, yes, we learned the ‘ gifts ’ and things that 
were good for the heart, conscience and imagination. 
I cannot explain it all. Father will tell you how it 
was.” 

“ My little girl, what would be the use of such a 
school as that ? What is your head for? ” 

“ To be guided by the heart and conscience, 
father would say. In our country the education of 
habit comes first.” 

Dame Toogood looked bewildered. Was this 
child deceiving her ? Had she really been taught 
anything at all ? 

Well, you may take your seat with the rest, 
you look honest.” 

Flora or Flossie, as we shall call her, took her seat 
with the rest. How strange the room looked to 
her. Here were no combinations of color on the 
walls, no colored balls, no geometrical blocks, no 
growing plants, no little birds and animals. 

A geography class was at last called. 

My little girl,” said the Dame, with intended 
kindness, “ although you don’t know anything, you 
may stand up with the rest.” 

Our little Swiss girl stood up with the rest ” 
with hurt feelings and beating heart. 

- 3 


34 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


The children were asked questions in regard to 
different countries. 

“ How many children can bound the countries of 
Europe ? ” asked the Dame. “ Raise your hands, 
you who can bound the countries of Europe.” 

Flossie’s hand went up with the rest. 

The Dame looked greatly surprised. 

“ Now, my little girl, I have caught you. Hands 
can fib as well as tongues.” 

She took her birch rod and rose up. 

“ My little girl, come here and bound Europe,” 
said she. “ Come and stand before me under the 
desk.” 

She held out the birch rod over the head of the 
little stranger. “ Bound Russia — there.” 

The room was as still as if empty. 

“ Russia ” said our little girl, “ is bounded on the 
north by the Arctic Ocean, by the White Sea, and 
the Kura Sea, and the islands of New Siberia ; on 
the south by the Black Sea, the Caspian Sea, Persia, 
Afghanistan, and Mongolia ; on the east by the 
Baltic, the Gulf of Bothnia and Sweden — ” 

Here the Dame’s rod began to shake in her hand. 

“ — on the west by the Sea of Okhotsh.” 

Here Dame Toogood lost her hold on her rod, 
and let it fall to the floor. She gave her cap border 
a bob and said, “ My senses ! I would think you 
had come out of fairy-land.” 

The children stood in amazement when Dame 
Toogood seemed to recover from her surprise, and 
said — 


FLOSSIE. 


35 


Can you bound France ? ” 

Yes, marm.” 

“ What are the principal towns in France ? ” 

Paree (Paris) 

“ Versai (Versailles) 

Orleon (Orleans) 

Avinon (Avignon) 

Nont (Nantes) 

Kala (Calais). 

Here the good Dame picked up her stick. 

“ Yes, yes,” said she. “ I see that you know 
them all, but you cannot pronounce them right. I 
will teach you how to do that later on. How did . 
you learn to bound countries, little girl ? ” 

“ In the school where I went they used to make 
maps on the sand.” 

On the sand. Now, I do not know whether to 
believe you or not. You take my breath right out 
of me. 

Did you ever study arithmetic ? ” 

“ No, marm.” 

“ Can you count ? ” 

*'Yes, marm.” 

“ Can you multiply ? ” 

“ Yes, marm.” 

“ Now, let me see if you are speaking the truth. 
How much is 99 times 99 ? ” 

8791, marm.” 

Dame Toogood turned around and put her stick 
on the high pegs. 

“ My senses ! ” said she, using the two common 


36 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


words that at that time expressed surprise without 
a very true sense of refinement. 

“ I never saw such a child as that before. But,” 
she added, “ I can teach you some things yet. I 
will teach you how to read.” 

“ I will do the best I can to learn all I can,” said 
our little girl. “ The ways are different here from 
what they used to be in my school.” 

After the school was dismissed, Flossie came to 
Dame Toogood, kissed her wrinkled face, and 
said — 

“ If I will do the best I can, you will never hold 
the rod over me again, will you ? That made me 
cry.” 

Dame Toogood folded the little girl to her breast, 
and said — 

“ Sometimes I am inclined to think that I may 
have something to learn yet, like the Swedish 
teachers who taught their scholars that there were 
people ‘beyond the mountains also.’ Flossie, 
you have got at my heart somehow. I’ll teach 
you, and you teach me, and that will not be 
much of a school, but it will help us both to 
grow.” 

Dame Toogood began to have a new view of true 
education. She had unconsciously received a heart 
lesson from the child. 

She went home and got out her dictionary and 
found that Flossie had not pronounced her names 
of French cities so incorrectly after all. 

As berrying, as we have pictured, was the princi- 


FLOSSIE. 


37 


pal out-of-door amusement for children in summer, 
Flossie joined the berry-pickers, and became ac- 
quainted with the good spirit of the berry pastures, 
Little Lady Lucy. 


CHAPTER V. 


FLOSSIE TELLS A FAIRY STORY TO LITTLE LADY 
LUCY IN THE BERRY PASTURE. 

Pierre Falaise, Flossie’s father, the Swiss land- 
scape gardener, had met Joseph Bonaparte in Swit- 
zerland. Joseph had gone to Switzerland on the 
fall of his brother Napoleon, after the Russian cam- 
paign, and had intended to build up a beautiful es- 
tate there, as he did at Bordentown, New Jersey. 
But Napoleon came back from Elbe where he had 
been sent as a state prisoner, and Joseph Bonaparte 
suddenly left Switzerland to join him in Paris. 
Then came Waterloo, where Napoleon again was 
overthrown, and so Joseph left France in exile to 
settle at Point Breeze, Bordentown, on the Del- 
aware. 

Joseph Bonaparte invited Pierre Falaise, Flos- 
sies father, to Geneva, on Lake Leman, and had 
seen his beautiful work in the gardens of Geneva, 
to which work the old teacher had often repaired 
from Yverdon. So when he wished to lay out his 
park of a thousand acres at Point Breeze, he sent 
for him to assist him. Pierre could speak English 
perfectly. He had taught it, and he had been in 

38 


FLOSSIE TELLS A FAIRY STORY. 39 

the service of titled English families who had lovely 
chateau gardens on the lake near Geneva. Many 
Swiss children speak three languages, French, Ger- 
man, and English, and Flossie could speak English 
as perfectly as an American child. Her father had 
been in the service of an English family at Geneva. 

Pierre Falaise took a cottage in Bordentown and 
spent his time in working in the park. He met 
Joseph Bonaparte daily. 

Now Pierre was a Swiss story-teller. He had 
been brought up under the influence of the school 
of Pestalozzi, the father of education at Yverdon, 
and the cultivation of the imagination was a part of 
the Pestalozzian training. In Germany and Swit- 
zerland every child goes through fairy-land. 

Flossie lived an out-of-door life with the children. 
She went to the berry pastures, and although her 
father was well paid for his valuable work in the 
grand park at Point Breeze, she picked berries like 
the rest and sold them. 

When Little Lady Lucy first saw Flossie coming 
into the berry pasture with the children, she lifted 
her green hood, and then rose up from the bushes, 
and said — 

“ Let me have a look at you ! ” 

Flossie, who was all curls and eyes and confi- 
dence, stood before Little Lady Lucy abashed, and 
said — 

Will you show me how to pick berries like the 
rest? ” 

“ That I will, you little fairy girl, and I would be 


40 


THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


proper glad to do so, only I would be afraid you 
would vanish away, pail and all. You look just as 
though you had slipped out of the Garden of Eden. 
Maybe you have. It is a kind of Paradise that your 
father is building for the king that was, but Joseph 
Bonaparte will have to die like all the rest of us. 
But what should I be saying such things to you 
for? Do you have berry pastures in Switzer- 
land ? ” 

“ Yes, Lady Lucy, and bees, and hives in the roofs 
of our houses, and wild strawberries and cherries; 
but it is all different there from what it is here. 
Will you let me follow you ? ’’ 

“ That I will, and learn you to pick right smart. 
I know where there is a very thick place ; I’ve been 
saving it ; follow me. You look as though you 
lived in a house made of sunshine.” 

“ That sounds like a fairy story. Lady Lucy. Do 
you know any fairy stories?” 

“ No, no ; fairy stories are wicked. We don’t 
never tell that kind of stories in this country. We 
tell stories of Indians that whoop, and bears that 
carry off children nights, and ghosts that come up 
from graveyards all in white and scare bad people 
clean out of their senses. But we don’t tell fairy 
stories.” 

“ No, but father does. I’ll ask him to tell you 
one some day. I only tell little fairy stories.” 

“ Well, when we get to picking all in the shade, 
you tell me a fairy story, and I’ll tell you a bear 
gtory. It won’t be wicked for you to tell me a little 


FLOSSIE TELLS A FAIRY STORY. 41 

fairy story, because I am old and tough and my 
head is on firm, and don’t get loose, and led astray 
by ’maginations.” 

It was a blue sky day. Pearly clouds flitted 
hither and thither, and at last formed a white, bil- 
lowy mass in the west. 

“That looks like Mont Blanc,” said Flossie, point- 
ing to the clouds, which had formed a dome-shaped 
mass. 

“ And what is that, my fairy girl?” 

“ The monarch mountain of Europe.” 

“ Those are sounding words. Did you ever see 
it?” 

“ O yes. Lady Lucy, thousands of times.” 

“ You don’t seem to be as old as that,” said Little 
Lady Lucy. 

They sat down side by side in the thick place in 
the shade, and picked berries. There were many 
birds in the trees of the pasture, robins, thrushes, 
and blackbirds, and these would all seem to join to- 
gether at times and sing in chorus. 

“ Here all nature rejoices,” said Lady Lucy. “ I 
love nature, don’t 'you? It’s friendly— don’t you 
feel that way? Look there now.” 

A red-winged blackbird had alighted on the twig 
of a black alder near them, and began singing and 
swinging. He had but a few notes, but those were 
high and joyous ones. 

Flossie started up. She had never seen a red- 
winged blackbird before. 

“ O Lady Lucy, Lady Lucy, I wish father could 


42 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


see that. The little bird has the sky on his wings. 
He must have come down from heaven through the 
sunrise.” 

Presently there was another ripple of song. 

“ Look there,” said Lady Lucy. “ That is the 
conquiddle, bob-o-link, as we call it. He has white 
on his wings. Where did he come from ? ” 

The bird poured forth a stream of melody more 
joyous than all the other birds, with quivering 
wings. 

“ He came through the lands of the angels,” said 
Flossie. “ Why, the berry pasture is all like a fairy- 
land.” 

They picked on, and at last Little Lady Lucy 
said — 

“ Now you tell me one of your /iu/e fairy stories 
of your country, and Lll tell you a story of Borden- 
town.” 

‘ What shall it be about, Lady Lucy? ” 

“ Oh, about people who were contented with their 
lot. I like people who are contented with their lot, 
even though the lot be a berry pasture. The birds 
come and sing to me here, and God plants flowers 
for me, and so I have a park, as well as the king that 
was over at Point Breeze.” 

“ I once heard of two old people who were not 
contented with their lot,” said Flossie. ’Tis an 
old story.” 

“ I pity them. Tell me about them now,” said 
Little Lady Lucy.” 

Well — I will tell it in my own way : 


FLOSSIE TELLS A FAIRY STORY. 


43 


The Three Wishes. 

‘‘ One night an aged couple were sitting by the fire, 
very sad, and saying, ‘ Oh, oh, oh,’ when a little 
fairy jumped right down the chimney and out upon 
the hearth.” 

“You don’t say. That’s mighty interesting. Go 
on.” 

“ And the fairy waved a golden rod around her 
head three times, and said — 

“‘One, two, three. You may wish three times, 
old man, old woman ; you may wish three times, 
and whatever you wish for, you may have.’ 

“ The old woman’s face grew round — it beamed. 

“The old man’s face lighted up, and all the 
wrinkles in it went back, and left it as it was when 
he was young. 

“ ‘ We must be very careful in what we wish,’ said 
the old man, ‘ so as to get the most.’ 

“ ‘ Very careful,’ said the old woman, ‘ so as we 
may own the world.’ 

“ They thought, and thought, and thought some 
more, until the old woman grew hungry and the 
fairy stood there on the hearth waiting, and waving 
her golden rod in the light of the fire. 

“ ‘ I wish I had a pudding,’ said the old woman at 
last. 

“ A pudding all at once appeared upon the hearth 
before the fire. 

“ The old woman was very much surprised. 

“ The fairy said, ‘ One.’ 


44 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ Then the old man flew into a great rage. 

“ ‘ See what you have got by your foolish wish,’ 
said he. ‘ A pudding, a pudding, a paltry pudding,’ 
he cried. 

“ ‘ Well, it can’t be helped now,’ said the old 
woman, humbly. ‘ We will be very wise in our 
other two wishes so as to get the world.’ 

“ Then they thought, and thought, and thought 
some more. But as often as the old man saw the 
pudding he grew angry and red in the face, and he 
at last forgot himself in his anger, and said — 

“ ‘ I wish that pudding was hung on to the end of 
your nose, just to punish you for your want of wit.’ 

“ The pudding rose from the hearth and hung on 
the end of the old woman’s nose. 

“ ^ Two,’ said the fairy, waving her golden rod. 

“‘Now you see what you have. done,’ said the 
old woman. ‘ You have been no wiser than I.’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ said the old man, ‘ we will be very wise 
in our third wish so as to get the world.’ 

“ ‘ That we will,’ said the old woman. ‘ You can’t 
blame me now, nor I you, since we have each made 
such foolish wishes.’ 

“ They thought, and thought, and thought some 
more. 

“ But the pudding began to pull and pull down 
the old woman’s nose, and to draw her face all out 
of shape, so that her eyelids were as big as egg-shells 
and (illustrate) she could not endure it any longer. 

“ ‘ Oh, oh, oh ! ’ said she. 

“ ‘ What ? ’ asked the old man. 


FLOSSIE TELLS A FAIRY STORY. 45 

‘ Oh, I wish that pudding was off my nose ! ’ 

“ The pudding dropped off and disappeared. 

‘ Three ! * said the fairy, waving her golden rod 
before the fire. Then the fairy went up the chim- 
ney. 

“ The old couple thought, and thought, and 
thought some more. Then said the old man — 

“ ‘ What would we do with all the world if we had 
it ? We could not eat nor drink any more than is 
good for us, nor wear any more clothes than we 
need. And God has given us the sun, and the 
moon, and all the stars, and the sky, and the air, 
and the birds, and all nature. Let us be content 
with such things as we have, and never complain 
any more.’ 

‘ I will never complain any more,’ said the old 
woman, and they were always happy after that.”* 

“ That is a very good story,” said Little Lady 
Lucy. “ I don’t think all fairy stories are wicked. 
The stories in St. Luke are good. Now, I haven’t 
any fairy stories to tell, but I’ll tell you a story 
when we sit down under the trees with the rest of 
the children to pick over our berries. We go to 
Benji’s store to pick over the berries under the great 
trees. Sometimes Joseph Bonaparte comes down 
to the store. He. is not contented. The great park 
don’t satisfy his soul. He loves to be among chil- 
dren ! ” 

“ Will you tell me a bear story ? ” asked Flossie. 

* This favorite German story is becoming popular in Amer- 
ican schools. 


46 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ The city of Bern in my country keeps bears in 
great cages.” 

“ No, no ! ” said Lady Lucy. “ You have told 
such a good little story, that I will tell you a gooder 
one than that. I must now. It is a mystery ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY TELLS A CURIOUS STORY TO 
THE BERRY-PICKERS UNDER THE TREES AT 
BENJI’S STORE. 

After the children had filled their pails and 
baskets with berries on that August day, when 
Little Lady Lucy and Flossie first met, they 
“ bundled ” over the walls of the pasture and went 
straightway to Benji’s store, in a merry mood, 
for there had been unusually good picking that 
day. 

There were wooden seats in front of the store 
under the great trees, where the wagoners sat down 
to rest in summer time while Benji “ baited ” their 
horses. The men talked politics there, and politics 
were lively in the times of sagacious President 
Monroe. 

Sometimes the people from the Bonaparte House 
at Point Breeze came down there and sat with the 
country folk under the trees. 

For these people did not seem to be entirely sat- 
isfied with their looo-acre park — they wanted 
something more — touches of sympathy. Even 
Joseph Bonaparte — he who had won two crowns, 

47 


48 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


and refused one — seemed to be a very lonely man. 
He liked the sympathy of children, and he invited 
them to his house on Independence days, and they 
loved him and — pitied him. And after he told them 
a certain story about the little King of Rome, which 
we will tell you by and by, they loved him and 
pitied him the more. 

Little Lady Lucy sat down with the children un- 
der the great elms in front of the store, and they 
began to pick over their berries. Some of my city 
readers — should I have them — may not know what 
“ picking over berries ” means. In picking berries 
rapidly, some green berries and imperfect or de- 
cayed berries, get into the pails, and these have to 
be picked out to make the other berries clean and 
salable. 

After they were all busy in this work. Little Lady 
Lucy rubbed her nose, once, twice, and three times, 
and said to Flossie — 

“ Now, I will tell you a story, and the rest may 
hear it, or put their ears in their pockets, just as 
they like.” 

Benji, the storekeeper, came to the door of the 
store in his shirt-sleeves, and stood there to listen 
to Little Lady Lucy’s story. Then Pierre Falaise, 
seeing Flossie was there, came down from the park, 
and he stopped to listen, under the trees. Then 
Dame Toogood came down to the store to trade 
away some eggs for some needles, and she, too, sat 
down within hearing; and last of all portly Joseph 
Bonaparte, the king that was, not knowing what else 


LADY LUCY TELLS A CURIOUS STORY. 49 

to do with his weary hours, came walking down to 
the place, rather pompously and slowly, and Benji, 
the storekeeper, handed him a chair, and he sat 
down, and he brushed the flies away with a great 
flaglike handkerchief like common mortals. 

Little Lady Lucy, who declared that she “ never yet 
feared the face of day,” directed her story to Flossie, 
and the others did not “ put their ears in their 
pockets.” 

My little fairy-book girl, you that came from 
the way-off mountains, over the seas, just open your 
ears and remember what I have to tell. It isn’t 
much of a story, and yet it is. When I was a young 
woman, and that was long ago, the children used to 
dig cannon-balls out of the ground all along the 
Delaware. There were the battle-fields of Trenton 
and Princeton, and afar was Valley Forge, to which 
the soldiers marched in winter with bleeding feet — 
they loved liberty and the cause that much that 
they left the prints of their feet in blood in the snow. 
Ah, ah, ah, those were the days of heroes ! Men 
lived for their souls and for all mankind, and a cause 
then. Ah-a-me ! Ah-a-me ! and my poor husband, 
now long dead and gone, he was one of them that 
left the tracks of his feet in the snows of that awful 
winter ! 

“ Washington was in the camps at Valley Forge 
then, and Lafayette was with him. Husband stood 
on guard by the marquee — that was the field tent 
where the drill was. 

Now, all listen. You listen. Citizen Bonaparte. 

4 


50 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


‘‘ One cold night, husband, who was standing on 
guard, saw Washington and Lafayette talking to- 
gether outside of the marquee under the moon and 
stars. 

“ Now, Lafayette, they used to say, was a very 
feeling man, and he put the great cape of his cloak 
over Washington’s shoulders, and the two stood 
together and talked very earnestly. Washington 
talked low, but Lafayette’s voice became sharp and 
cut the air, and husband heard him say — now you 
listen, all, and you, too. Citizen Bonaparte — hus- 
band heard him say — 

“ ‘ I will bring over two regiments of Gatinais,’ or 
of some place like that ; ‘those men never falter in 
the cause of liberty. Ovan sans tache / ’ 

“ Now these last words were always a mystery to 
husband. He repeated them over an hundred 
times : ‘ Ovan sans tache' It may be they are 
French words. Citizen Bonaparte, have you any 
idea what those words mean ? ” 

“ Yes, my good woman, those were great words. 
The word you call Ovan is spelled A-u-v-e-r-g n-e. 
Lafayette was born in Auvergne, and the Auver- 
gnese were the mountaineers of liberty in the days of 
the French struggle for liberty. They would die, 
but not retreat.” 

“ Thank you, Citizen Bonaparte. Those were 
great words then — great words? ” 

“ Yes, my good woman, those were words of des- 
tiny — words that overcame Cornwallis, and en- 
throned liberty in the world.” 


LADY LUCY TELLS A CURIOUS STORY. 51 

How grandly these words sounded ! 

“ But, Citizen Bonaparte, what is the meaning of 
those two other words sans tache f ” 

Flossie could contain her little self no longer. 

Oh, I know, I know ; I know what they mean ! ” 
exclaimed she. 

Her father laid his hand gently on her shoulder. 

“ Let Citizen Bonaparte, as he wishes to be called 
here, answer that, little daughter.” 

Citizen Bonaparte took off his hat, and held it in 
his hand. 

“ My good woman, I am expecting a call from 
Lafayette in the fall, and let me advise you to relate 
that very interesting incident to him, when he 
comes to Bordentown. I am sure that he would 
recognize it, and that it would affect him. Let 
Lafayette himself tell you the meaning of those 
most noble words ! ” 

Lady Lucy rose up, and stood leaning on her 
cane. 

“ But, Citizen Bonaparte, how could an old berry- 
woman like me meet Lafayette?” 

“ My good woman, Lafayette always receives the 
people of La Grange, France, where is his chateau, 
on holidays. If he should suggest it to me — and it 
would be like him to do so — if he should suggest it 
to me, I would open my doors to the people here at 
the time of his visit. But he would come to me to 
honor me by being my guest, and I would have to 
follow his suggestions. 

If I were to admit the good folks here to my 


52 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


rooms on that day, I would introduce you to him, 
and would suggest to him that you have a very 
interesting incident which you would like to tell 
him.” 

The children had all ceased in their work. 
Flossie clapped her hands, and all of the children 
followed her example. The storekeeper did the 
same, and Little Lady Lucy began to cry. She gave 
a courtesy, and said — 

“Thank you, Citizen Bonaparte. You are too 
good to an old woman like me.” 

Her lip quivered. 

“ But you are a soldier’s widow.” 

“ Yes, Citizen Bonaparte.” 

“ And your husband, who was a guard, left the 
prints of his feet in blood on the snows of the Dela- 
ware.” (Schuylkill.) 

“Yes, Citizen Bonaparte.” 

“ An old, white-haired woman, a soldier’s widow, 
ought not to be in the pastures picking berries. 
You have no pension?” 

“ I never asked for any. My husband was a sol- 
dier for liberty and the cause, and not for money. 
I have almost everything now. Citizen Bonaparte.” 

The ex-king of Naples and Spain arose and 
walked slowly towards his great mansion in the 
sunset. 

The coming of Lafayette now became a great 
event to the children. Would the friend of Washing- 
ton ask Joseph Bonaparte to admit the people of Bor- 
dentown at Point Breeze? Would Citizen Joseph 


LADY LUCY TELLS A CURIOUS STORY. 53 

introduce Little Lady Lucy, the berry-picker, to the 
Marquis ? Would she tell him her story ? Would 
he tell her the meaning of the words ? Perhaps he 
would secure for her a pension. Her husband had 
stained the snows of Valley Forge with the blood 
of his half-shoeless feet, while standing on guard, 
and he had guarded Washington and Lafayette 
while in consultation, if her memory of her hus- 
band’s story was true. 

The children loved Little Lady Lucy now as they 
had never done before. They dreamed of the 
coming of Lafayette every day. They could at 
least welcome him in the park, and they began to con- 
sider how they could do this, so as to delicately 
suggest to him to invite them to meet him. 

So they sung lustily — 

“ Hail him, hail him,” which some of them ex- 
pected to sing in the fifty-acre lot at Philadelphia. 

But what did sa 7 is tache mean ? They were 
“ great words,” “ words of destiny.” Would 
Lafayette tell Little Lady Lucy what they meant ? 
—what they meant in the days of the Revolu- 
tion ? 

Flossie would not tell Lady Lucy their meaning 
now, for she was the soul of honor — that had been 
a part of habit education in the Swiss Kindergarten 
in the old castle at Yverdon ; and had not Citizen 
Joseph, who had worn two crowns, said that it 
should be Lafayette who should tell Lady Lucy the 
meaning of those “ great words “ words of des- 
tiny ”? 


54 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLER3. 


“ Sa7is tache ! ” 

“ Auvergne sans tache / ” 

The words are worthy of a motto to be hung 
in schools. What did they mean ? 

We will tell you further on. 


CHAPTER VII. 


DAME TOOGOOD GOES TO SEE PIERRE FALAISE, THE 
SWISS LANDSCAPE GARDENER, ABOUT THE 
STRANGE CONDUCT OF FLOSSIE. 

Pierre Falaise, the Swiss landscape gardener 
of Geneva from Yverdon, lived at the park. 

One evening, as the summer sun was going down, 
amid cloud tints of amber and gold, over the cool, 
dark, glinting woods and glimmering waterways, 
Pierre stood at his door, studying the effect of cer- 
tain angles of trees that he had planted. 

He suddenly heard a voice at his side — 

“ Nature is lovely at this hour,” said the woman, 
solemnly. His visitor was Dame Toogood. 

I have ventured to come over — pardon me if I 
intrude — to talk with you a little about Flossie.” 

“Yes, you are very good. Come on in. I hope 
my little girl shows an obedient spirit.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes ; your little girl goes right to the 
tender spot in my heart. That is why I am con- 
cerned about her. Isn’t she rather peculiarsome ? 

“ I wonder if that was the word that I had ought 
to use,” said the good woman, in an aside. 

“ Rather precocious,” she said, in a louder voice. 

She sat down by a Swiss window in the little 

55 


56 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

ch^et-like cottage. She had a sprig of balm in her 
hand, which she applied to her nose — she did not 
take snuff like Little Lady Lucy. 

Explain to me what you mean,” said Pierre. 

Her attainments quite surprise me,” said the 
good dame, and then they don’t. Now I consider 
an honest soul more than any other thing.” 

“ I agree with you,” sdid Pierre. Character is 
the end of education, not to learn so much how to 
get a living, as how to live. The individuality of 
the pupil is sacred to the teacher. Those are Pes- 
talozzian principles— Froebel founded his system of 
education upon it. Yes, yes, I, like you, believe in 
the education that makes a pure, clean, honest soul. 
Our Swiss system of education seeks to put the Ser- 
mon on the Mount of Beatitudes into the conduct 
of the child.” 

Our good dame waved her balm. 

Such talk as that all goes over the top of my 
head, said she. Pardon me. I never heard much 
about those people whose names end up the alpha- 
bet, until I met with Flossie. Now, let us come to 
the point Flossie in a very simple way has told me 
many things that upset my senses, like steam in a 
teapot, but she told me one thing that stands to 
human reason cannot be true.” 

I am sorry to hear that, my good woman. What 
was it that she told you that seems to you unrea- 
sonable ? ” 

She said in Switzerland they let the cats and 
pigeons come to school. There ! ” 


DAME TOOGOOD VISITS PIERRE FALAISE. 57 


The good dame waved her balm, and added — 

“ Now, what could a teacher teach a cat or a 
pigeon ? ” 

“ My little girl meant well. The cat and pigeon 
and other little birds and animals are allowed the 
freedom of the kindergarten schools in my country. 
They do not come to be taught, but to teach.” 

The good dame stared and tickled the end of her 
nose with the balm. 

“ Pierre Falaise, gardener, do you think me so 
simple as that ? What can you think my head was 
made for? Cats and pigeons come to school to 
teach, and no one to say ‘ Scat ’ or ‘ Shew ’ to them ! 
I fear that you are trying to cover Flossie’s faults 
with a story that makes her story too simple for a 
simpleton. Pardon me, but I am a plain-speaking, 
truthful woman.” 

She wiggled the balm. 

“You misunderstand me, madam. In our schools 
we plant little seeds in pots, so that the pupils may 
see them sprout and grow and bloom, and we teach 
vegetable life and botany in that way. We allow 
little birds and animals to live in the schoolrooms, 
so that the pupils can study their habits, and learn 
to be kind to them. We teach geometry by blocks, 
and geography by walks over hills, and maps in the 
sand. Froebel’s principle was — ‘ We learn by doing.’ 
He taught his teachers that a child was happy and 
contented when it was creating or making some- 
thing. He said that the supreme moment of happi- 
ness in a child’s mind was when the child could say 


S8 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-'J ELLERS. 

— ‘See what I have tnade ! ' It developed the 
soul of the child when the child could say — ‘ See, 
what I have made for you ! ' Do you understand 
me ? ” 

Dame Toogood dropped her balm into her lap. 

“ Pierre Falaise, that sounds too good to be true. 
You have lightened my heart. I am so happy now 
—Flossie did speak the truth. Pierre, that child has 
come into my heart and shut the door. You will 
pardon me now, won’t you ? I was only seeking the 
child’s good in a blind way. How would it do for 
me to let the cats come into the door of my school- 
room, and the pigeons come into the windows ? I 
might put a little bundle of grain on the lattice- 
work outside of the window for the snow-birds in 
winter.” 

“ My good woman, you have a good heart, and it 
is already absorbing the kindergarten principles 
which are meant to train the heart, the conscience, 
and the imagination first.” 

There is a poor pigeon with a broken leg that 
comes to the window every day,” said Dame Too- 
good. “ I might let the children feed’ him. That 
would be a right kind of a lesson.” 

She waved her balm again, excitedly, her withered 
cheeks glowing. 

Yes, yes— an excellent lesson ! And,” he added, 
*‘if you will let me, I will sometimes take the chil- 
dren out to walk on holidays, and give them some 
simple lessons in geography, history, and botany in 
a new way.” 


DAME TOOGOOD VISITS PIERRE FALAISE. 59 

Just here Flossie appeared, and was presently en- 
folded in her new teacher’s arms. 

“You precious bit of the world of the fairies,” 
said the good dame, “ you did speak the truth, and 
the skies would have fallen down if I had found out 
that you had been lying to me. 

“ Flossie,” she continued, “ there is much that you 
can teach me, though I would never have believed 
it ; but there is one thing that I can teach you — I 
can teach you to read, and I will do it well — and I 
will teach you to read good books, too, ^ The Shep- 
herd of Salisbury Plain.’ ” 

Flossie had never heard of the said shepherd. But 
she was well prepared to learn to read, and she was 
glad indeed that the good dame was to teach her. 
She saw what an earnest spirit she had, and she felt 
the warmth of her love. 

Dame Toogood’s call had been very satisfactory 
to her, to Pierre the gardener, and to Flossie. 

She picked more balm on her way home, and saw 
that the lessons of life are never all quite learned in 
this bird-singing and balmy world. 

Before Dame Toogood left, she said mysteri- 
ously — 

“ Now, my little lady, I want to whisper a ques- 
tion in your ear.” 

She whispered it low — 

“ What does sa?is tache mean ? ” 

“ Oh, Dame Toogood, Dame Toogood, I will tell 
you that, but, pardon me, not now.” 

“ When, my little girl ? ” 


6o THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ When Citizen Bonaparte has opened his doors 
to Little Lady Lucy, to meet Lafayette, and La- 
fayette has told her what the words mean, then I 
will tell you. That will be the right time ; my 
heart tells me that will be the hour. Will it not be, 
Dame Toogood ? ” 

That will be the hour. The clock of your life 
runs true.” 

'^Auvergne sans tachey Those words began to 
haunt many good people’s minds. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


PEDAGOGUE BROWN OF BORDENTOWN. 

There is another character that we must intro- 
duce here, and he was a queer person— “ Pedagogue 
Brown of Bordentown.” So they called him. He 
was a man of great learning — he had read Homer in 
Greek — and he went about the schoolroom with a 
flat ruler in his hand, and a quill pen behind his ear. 
He was a poet. His ideas of school government 
were expressed in the imperial command — “ Hold 
out your hand, sir ! ” and when the ruler and the 
extended hand met there were lamentations. He 
once whipped a boy for not being a poet. It was in 
this way — he gave the “ first class ” in rhetoric, one 
of iEsop s Fables to render in the form of verse. 
There was one boy who was so unfortunately born 
as not to be a poet. So when he came to the master, 
Pedagogue Brown of Bordentown, with his exercise 
all in blank verse and with no true rhythms, the 
enraged master feruled him. 

“ If that happens again,” he said, I will use the 
birch, and it shall be whack-et-ty-whack ! ” 

The next day the boy presented no better exer- 
cises, and astonished Pedagogue Brown by saying — 

6i 


62 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


I am no poet, sir.” 

“ Sirrah,” shouted the pedagogue, “ no poet ! no 
poet ! and this in my school. A pupil of my school 
no poet ! Take off your jacket, sirrah ! ” 

There followed the exercises of whack-et-ty-whack, 
and no boy in that school ever dared again to say — 
“ I am no poet, sir ! ” 

He sang — he used a tuning-fork. He was very 
patriotic, and when he learned that Lafayette was 
expected to visit the stately mansion at Point 
Breeze, he began to drill the children in the song 
called “ Nous vous aimons^ Lafayette,'" as the Swiss 
gardener had suggested. He had some fine voices in 
his school, and one young lady there could sing 
Contre, 

He did good work in instruction in music ; he 
could read written music as easily as he could read 
Homer. He was a master after the old type ; as for 
Pestalozzi and Froebel — he had hardly heard of 
them. He went to Greece for his models. His 
school was an absolute monarchy. He had never 
thought that this was not the true method for a 
republic, where children should be trained to govern 
themselves, and to say no to themselves for others’ 
good. 

He met Pierr^ Falaise one day, and inquired about 
the Swiss schools. Pierre explained to him the 
methods of Yverdon, and said — 

“ You are expecting that Lafayette will visit Bor- 
dentown. Were I you, I would prepare the way for 
his coming, by teaching my pupils how great was 


PEDAGOGUE BROWN OF. BORDENTOWN. 63 

the cause of the Revolution, and how noble was the 
character of Washington.” 

“ That is a good idea,” said Pedagogue Brown. 
“ But how should I do this ? ” 

“ If you will assemble your pupils under the oaks 
in the park on Saturday afternoons, I will relate to 
them some stories of Washington that I have met 
in my study of American history. We study Wash- 
ington in Switzerland. Joseph Bonaparte would be 
glad for us to use the park for that purpose, and he 
might join us there, sometimes ; I cannot say. I 
feel sure that Dame Toogood would bring her little 
school there, and we might invite the berry-pickers. 
That would be like the Swiss gatherings. The Swiss 
schoolmasters do such things, and lead the children 
down to the lime trees on the banks of the Neu- 
chatel, and unfurl there the cross of Helvetia, and 
tell the stories of the Patriots of Liberty, in the 
mountain shadows.” 

These were new methods of teaching to Peda- 
gogue Brown. 

But it was arranged between them that Peda- 
gogue Brown should write a poem on some incident 
in the life of Washington, and that Pierre should 
relate a story from the same life, and that all should 
learn to say, ''Nous vous aiino7is, Lafayettey 

They would assemble the children in the park 
under the trees, and the berry-pickers should be in- 
vited, and Little Lady Lucy, whose long dead hus- 
band had stained the snows with the blood of his 
unresting feet, at Valley Forge. 


CHAPTER IX. 


AN UNEXPECTED REWARD OF MERIT. 

The children at Dame Toogood’s school sought 
to get Flossie to divulge to them the mystery of the 
words safis tache^ but the little Switzer kept her 
honor bright by answering — 

“ You will be told what it means from the lips of 
Lafayette, who comes from Auvergne — he will tell 
Little Lady Lucy, and she will tell us all.” 

Pierre Falaise had heard that some eight hundred 
children of Hartford had made a motto of “ Nous 
vous aimoiis, Lafayette ” — “ We love you, Lafayette ” 
— the refrain of Mrs. Sigourney’s poem. In Troy, 
too, the girls of the Female Seminary had prepared 
this motto : 

‘‘ We owe our schools to freedom— freedom, to 
Lafayette,'^ 

Pierre thought that it would be a fitting thing to 
combine these two mottoes for the celebration at 
Princetown or Philadelphia. 

A very strange thing happened in the Dame’s 
school. It made Dame Toogood’s cap border rise 
up in much agitation. It had been her custom to 
give rewards of merit to her pupils who had done 
well during a term, 

64 


AN UNEXPECTED REWARD OF MERIT. 65 

Flossie had learned to read well. She had made 
more progress in one term than others make in 
years. She had been prepared to learn to read rap- 
idly and intelligently by her Swiss training in right 
habits of the heart and life. 

One day the good Dame said to her — 

“ You have done so well in your reading lessons, 
I will have to give you a reward of merit on the last 
day of the school, which will be Friday. That will 
make your father proud. I’ll invite him to come 
that day.” 

Flossie’-s eyes were filled with a strange light. 

“ You shouldn’t give me a reward of merit, should 
you. Dame Toogood.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

We didn’t do that way at Yverdon.” 

“What did you do at Yverdon?” asked the 
Dame. 

“ We gave the teacher a . reward of merit ? ” 

Dame Toogood gasped. 

“ You did ? What did you do that for ? ” 

“ The teacher had earned it. You have. I didn’t 
teach you to read ; you taught me. We also gave 
our teachers a Christmas present every year.” 

“You did? The teacher gives her scholars 
presents here. Everything seems to be all topsy- 
turvy in your country among the mountains. The 
teachers must flourish like lambs in clover there. I 
sometimes wish that I had been born there my- 
self.” 

Near the close of the term, Flossie went about 

5 


66 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLER. 


among her many friends to collect a little money to 
make her teacher a present. She went to the great 
white house at Point Breeze for the purpose, and 
met the daughter of Joseph Bonaparte, the Princess 
Zenaide, there. 

When Flossie told the Princess her errand, she 
lifted her hands, all in jewels and lace, and exclaimed 
in French — 

Now I like that ; and I like you for it. I have 
a gold sovereign — English — how much money have 
you collected ? ” 

“ Twenty cents,” said Flossie, modestly. 

“ Well, you give me the twenty cents, and I will 
give you the gold sovereign for the school to give 
to Dame Toogood. Perhaps I will come over and 
see you make the present ; it will be a pretty sight, 
I have no doubt. Poor Dame Toogood— she has 
not had over many sovereigns presented to her in 
her day. She means well.” 

“ She has been just as faithful to me as though I 
were her own little girl,” said Flossie. "'What will 
she say when we give her the sovereign?” 

The last day of the term came, and Dame Too- 
good was greatly surprised when it brought the car- 
riage of the Princess to her door. She had never 
been so honored before. She wore a new cap that 
day with a broad ribbon and a high border. She 
was glad indeed that she had put it on when she 
saw the Princess sweeping across the simple room 
in brocade, and taking her place with the other 
visitors. 



The good darne bent over her^ her cap border falling, and what 
would ?ny little girl say? 


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AN UNEXPECTED REWARD OF MERIT. 67 

After the exercises, in which Flossie astonished 
the visitors by the way that she read “I am 
monarch of all I survey,” Dame Toogood rose and 
said, with great agitation — 

“We have now come to the end of the term. I will 
give out the rewards of merit, and never in my hum- 
ble opinion were rewards of merit better deserved.” 

She was about to take the printed pictures that 
constituted the rewards of merits from her desk, 
when Flossie stepped up before the desk and 
said : 

“ Respected teacher ” 

She put her hands up to her lips. 

“ Respected teacher ” 

The little speech that she had learned was gone 
from her again. 

She opened her hand and held out to her respected 
teacher a gold sovereign. How it shone ! It seemed 
as big as a cart-wheel. 

The good dame bent over her, her cap border 
falling. 

“And what would my little girl say? ” 

“ Oh — I had a speech, but I can’t speak it. The 
children wish to give you this:' Then she added— 
“And the Princess.” 

Dame Toogood’s eyes enlarged, and she lifted 
her arms with great flowing sleeves. 

“ What for ? ” gasped she. 

“ As a reward of merit,” said Flossie. “ We all 
think that you have been a real good teacher, and 
have had a hard time with us. The Princess thinks 


68 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLER. 


you are real good, and father thinks so too, and I 
think that you are too good.” 

Dame Toogood turned round and round, and 
then sat down saying — 

“ I must have a cry now. I never cried for joy 
before in my life.” 

Flossie’s tender conscience began to make a sug- 
gestion. 

She put h6r arm around the Dame’s neck, and 
whispered : 

“ We gave twenty cents ! ” 


CHAPTER X. 


PIERRE FALAISE TELLS THE GERMAN CHILDREN’S 
STORY OF THE “ STONE COLD HEART.” 

Poor P'lossie ! She felt very bad to have for- 
gotten her little speech that she had expected to 
make to Dame Toogood. 

Poor Dame Toogood ! She sat there weeping, all 
happy shakes and delightful agitations, when Pierre 
stepped up to the desk, that was decorated with 
golden rod. 

Flossie pulled at his sleeve. 

“ You speak,” said she. “ I failed. “ It all went 
from me ; where did it go ? ” 

Pierre hadn’t any notion where Flossie’s little 
speech had gone. He thought it was in her brain 
yet. Where do things go that go out of memory? 

Dame Toogood rose up resolutely at last. She 
pounded on the desk with her knuckles, and 
said — 

‘‘ Order — will the school come to order? ” 

“ I wish, children, from the depths of my heart ” 

She paused — 

“ From the depths of my being ” 

She paused again. 

69 


70 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ I am flustered,” she said. “ Fm like Flossie — I 
never had such a gift before — that great gold wheel 
— and I feel just as I hadn’t Ought to — that is, I 
don’t feel worthy — you know how I feel — like one 
who lives on the sunny side of the house — there — 
the Lord bless all such hearts as yours, my children, 
and He will, and lead you all like so many lambs out 
into the green pastures and by still waters where the 
sun is bright by day and the moon and stars cool 
by night. It is hearts that we all need ; hearts. 
Now, since Flossie and I have been unable to make 
a speech, I am going to call upon one who can. 
Pierre Falaise, will you not make some remarks?” 

The face of the Swiss gardener beamed and he 
held Flossie by the hand as he spoke, and Dame 
Toogood twirled the great gold sovereign in her 
hand. How it shone ! 

“Dame Toogood has spoken truly,” he said. 
“ What we need is hearts — and by that I mean to 
follow the best that is in our hearts. It is true edu- 
cation to know how to use the heart. The power 
of the heart is the greatest of all powers. You have 
seen to-day how little things touch the heart.” 

He turned to the happy Dame, who was turning 
the sovereign over and over. 

“ You don’t allude to this,” she said, still turning 
the sovereign. “ This isn’t a little thing. The 
queen upon her throne, with her crown upon her 
head, and her arms all lions and unicorns, isn’t a 
whit happier than I am now.” 

She continued to turn the sovereign, which 


STORY OF THE “ STONE COLD HEART.” 71 

glinted in the slanting rays ef the sun falling through 
the west window. 

“ Let me tell you a German story — such as the 
old pedagogues like to tell in the schools on the 
Rhine,” said Pierre. “ It is a parable story. Our 
Lord loved to relate parable stories — he set the 
example of teaching the heart by parable stories. 
Even a nation may be known by its parable stories. 
When this nation grows older, new writers will come, 
and parable stories will abound. 

“Now a parable may be true in what it relates or 
it may not be true, but it is always true to the spirit 
of life. 

“ The parable story that I am about to tell you 
is called in the schools among the vineyards of the 
Rhine 

THE STONE COLD HEART. 

A BLACK FOREST TALE. 

(Suggested by Hauff.) 

Peter Monk lived in the Black Forest among 
the tall people who made glass and the foresters 
who cut down giant pines and floated them away to 
the Neckar and the Rhine. These people love to 
wander and to float on their rafts. 

They believe, or once believed, in wood spirits 
the ghosts that haunt trees, and live under the 
mosses at the roots of the trees. The dwarf spirits 
are called glassMen, and they wear peaked hats and 
little jackets and red stockings. 


72 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


But there were tall spirits in the forest abodes of 
the tall raftsmen giants. And among these giants 
was a raftsman called Michael the Dutchman. 
Michael, as was supposed, had power over the earth 
and air and all things in the great Black Forest. 

Little Peter Monk was a very smart boy, the son 
.of a charcoal burner, who had died. His mother 
was Frau Barbara Mankin. 

Peter Monk used to sit alone by the smoking 
kiln in the forest, and think, think, think. He did 
not let his wise mother think for him, he wished to 
think out life for himself. And he concluded that 
the life of a charcoal burner was a very lonely and 
profitless one. The glassmakers and clockmakers 
seemed happier than he. They could dress well on 
Sunday. But the raftsmen filled him with envy 
with their free life. They had buckles of silver, and 
deep pockets that jingled, and could dance. He 
wished to become a timber lord, and wear buckles 
and have money and dance. 

One of these timber lords was P'at Ezekiel, who 
went all the way to Amsterdam each year on his 
raft. He rode in a coach. 

How could Peter get money? 

Now there was a tradition in the great Black 
Forest that Michael the Dutchman could make 
people rich, and that there was a mystic verse which, 
if one were to repeat in the deep forest, would cause 
a glassman to appear and tell one all one wished to 
know. 

The verse was — 


STORY OF THE “STONE COLD HEART.” 73 


“ Hearken, thou for ages past 
Master of the forest vast, 

Thou whose treasured gold is laid 
Deep beneath the green pine’s shade. 

Thou whose elfin form is shown 
To the Sunday-born alone.” . 

One day his mother told him that he \Vasborn on 
Sunday, and that it was an old saying that the 
glassman would appear to those who were born on 
Sunday, if they would repeat the magic verse all 
alone in the deep forest. 

But little Peter Monk could remember only five 
lines of the magic verse, which he had heard but 
once, and that from the foresters in his childhood. 

Peter Monk went into the deep forest and 
wandered about repeating five lines of the rhyme 
over and over. Once a glassman appeared at the 
fifth line, but he vanished away when he found that 
Peter knew no more. But he found a family in the 
forest who knew Michael the Dutchman who pos- 
sessed magic powers. The same Michael went 
about saying — 

“ In Holland is gold. 

To be had at one’s will, 

For a bauble ’tis sold. 

Then your money-bags fill 
With gold, gold, gold ! ” 

The family helped him to learn the verse of 
which we have seen two English translations. The 
last two lines according to another translation were— 

“ Thine are the regions of the lofty pine, 

And children born on Sabbath days are thine 1 ” 


74 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


Peter went into the deep forest to repeat the 
magic lines, and to see what would happen. 

In silence and amid the shadowy solitudes he 
stopped at the mossy roots of a tall pine tree, and 
said the magic lines (in German) — 

“ Thine are the regions of the lofty pine, 

And children born on Sabbath days are thine.” 

There leaped out of the green moss a little glass- 
man, with twinkling eyes. 

“ Peter Monk, Peter Monk, what do you wish ? 
You have called me up — you were born on Sunday 
— you may have three wishes. Now wish well.” 

‘‘ I wish to have all the money that I can spend 
at my will.” 

“ O, Peter Monk, Peter Monk, there are better 
things in this world than money. It is things that 
money cannot buy that bring happiness. You 
shall have your wish. Your purse shall be full as 
often as you will it. Wish again, Peter Monk, but 
more wisely than before.” 

“ I wish that I may have a coach that shall obey 
my will, and carry me over the world that I may 
enjoy all the pleasures of the world.” 

Peter Monk, Peter Monk, travel is good, but 
not to find pleasure. Contentment at home is 
better than gaiety abroad. But we shall have the 
magical coach. Now wish again and be wise, or 
you will have gained nothing by your wishing and 
your Sabbath birth.” 

“ I wish that I may outdance the raftsmen. I 


STORY OF THE “STONE COLD HEART/^ 75 

have always wished to do that since I saw them 
fling high their heels.” 

“O, Peter Monk, Peter Monk, I pity you. I 
never knew a Sunday child to wish so foolishly be- 
fore.” 

Peter had his wishes. Gold filled his purse as 
often as he wished it, he outgambled the gamblers, 
and he traveled all over the world in his magic 
coach, and sought pleasure everywhere. When he 
came back he outdanced all the dancers, but yet he 
was not happy. 

Now that money and travel and dancing had 
failed him, he sought the excitement of crime, and 
he was driven out of society in disgrace. He 
thought of his three wishes, and was sorry that he 
had not wished for happiness. Why was he not 
happy ? 

He resolved to seek Michael the Dutchman, who 
knew all things and could do all things. 

So he fled to the forest again in search of him. 
He found him at last amid the great streams, and 
told him his tale. 

The giant loomed up in the air above him and 
said — 

“ The trouble with you is you want another heart. 
If your heart didn’t feel you would not be in trouble. 
You must have a heart that does not feel. Follow 
me!” 

Peter Monk followed the giant. They came to a 
greut cavern, and the giant ducked his head and 
went down into it and Peter Monk followed him. 


76 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 


They came at last to an enormous room full of treas- 
ures, lighted with lamps of gold. 

“ It is your heart that makes you uncomfortable,’' 
said the giant. “ I will strike a bargain with you. 
You shall give me your heart, and I will give you 
a money-making heart that can’t feel. The glass- 
man gave you a money-wishing heart that can 
feel. You did not wish well.” 

Peter Monk hesitated. 

Then the giant took him into a room and showed 
him a high glass-case full of glass jars in which were 
hearts. 

“ Those are the hearts of the Palgraves of the 
Rhine and the moneyed men of Holland.” He 
said, “ No man can accumulate riches to spend on 
himself in luxury who can feel, without discontent. 
These men gave me their hearts for gold, and I gave 
them hearts of stone, and their riches grew, smd 
wants of others no longer troubled them. They 
purchased a good name by charity, but their gold 
increased when they gave — they felt for no one. 
Do you see? ” 

“ I will give you my heart,” said Peter. 

Then the giant took the heart out of Peter ver)^ 
carefully, and put in its place a stone heart. 

He now had gold for the wishing, and it brought 
him many things that astonished the world, but 
everything in life seemed to go wrong. 

He went home and found his mother old and 
sick and poor. But he gave her nothing — he did 
not pity her — his heart could not feel. 


STORY OF THE “ STONE COLD HEART.” 77 

He married for beauty, but without love, for his 
heart could not feel. 

He cared for nothing, but the world was all dead 
to him, he could not feel. 

He came home one day, and he found his good 
wife feeding a beggar, and he struck her down, for 
he could not feel. He left her senseless, and fled — 
he did not care, for he could not feel. 

The sky might have been ink, and the earth all 
clay, and the stars cinders — it would have been all 
the same to him, for he could not feel. The flowers 
and birds and sunshine were all the same as though 
they never had been, for he could not feel. 

He was weary of life at last, and he said to him- 
self one day — 

“ I would give the whole world, if I had it, to have 
my old heart back again. I would be willing to 
toil at the kiln if I could have my old heart back 
again. Oh, for one hour of my old true heart. 
What happiness it brought me before my discon- 
tent ! ” 

But Michael would nevergive him his heart back 
again. Human hearts were his treasures. 

What should he do now? 

He would go to the glassman again. 

So he went into the forest, and began to say — 

“ Thine are the realms where grow the lofty pine. 

And children born on Sabbath days are thine ! ” 

The little glassman again leaped out of the green 


moss. 


78 THE*" BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

“ Peter Monk, Peter Monk, my Sunday child, 
what brings you here again?” 

“ My wishes did not make me happy.” 

“ I knew they would not, Peter Monk. 

“ And I sold my heart to Michael the Dutchman. 
He gave me a heart of stone for my human heart, so 
that I would not feel— and he gave me gold, gold, 
gold ! ” 

“ It is only gold that does good that is good,” 
said the glassman. “ What would you have of me 
now ? ” 

“ I want my heart again.” 

“ You must go to Michael for that.” 

“ He would never return it.” 

The glassman said, “No he would never return it 
of his own will, but his spells can be broken. 

“ Peter Monk, take this cross and hide it in your 
bosom. Then find Dutch Michael, and tell him 
that you would like to feel your old heart beat 
once more. He will take out of you the stone 
heart and put back your own heart, and as soon 
as you feel your old heart, it is yours. Hold up 
the cross to Michael, and run away, and he will not 
follow you.” 

Peter Monk found Michael and did as the glass- 
man had told him. As soon as he felt his old heart 
beat, he ran, and Michael stood as one turned to 
stone and saw him go. 

He went home, and kissed his old mother, and 
promised her a home. He kissed his wife and asked 
her to forgive him for the blow. 


STORY OF THE “ STONE COLD HEART.” 79 

He went to work at the kiln, and he was happy, 
and he made his old mother and his wife happy, 
and he came to see how very beautiful all the world 
was when one has a true and contented heart. 

“ A heart that can feel/’ he said, “ is worth more 
than a world of gold.” 

His mother thought so too, and used to say — 

“ Peter Monk, Peter Monk, to be true-hearted is 
better than anything else.” And he kissed her, and 
his wife kissed him, apd they all kissed each other, 
and the world to him was all clockwork then. 

Then Pierre added — 

“ Never sell the best feelings of your heart. What 
your teacher has said is true.” 

The children went home, their faces bright with 
the sunset. 


CHAPTER XII. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES — JOSEPH 
BONAPARTE LOVES A CHILD — FAR AWAY. 

Joseph Bonaparte always joined in the celebra- 
tions of Independence Day, on the 4th of July. He 
did not merely recognize the day in a stately and 
kingly way ; he was one with the people — Citizen 
Joseph — in the recreations of the festival. 

He was not building the great 1000 acre park 
for himself but for the people — Citizen Joseph was 
a good man in all relations to his fellow-men — we 
cannot wonder that Napoleon held him by the hand 
in his childhood and loved his heart always. 

The berry-pickers came day after day in the late 
afternoon, to the cool seats under the trees in front 
of Benji’s store, to pick over their berries and to sell 
them to Benji for the Princeton or Philadelphia 
market. 

Pierre Falaise used to meet them there, as Flossie 
was one of the pickers, and he delighted to relate 
stories of Swiss chalets and kindergartens while 
they worked. The Swiss gardener called such tales 
“ seed stories.” “ They leave seeds in the mind that 
will grow,” said he. “ Stories should have souls, 
not morals.” Somehow his stories haunted the 
heart for good. 

,80 


LITTLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES. 8i 


Dame Toogood, too, sometimes joined the berry- 
pickers at the store, and Solomon Brown, or “ Ped- 
agogue Brown of Bordentown, with his quill-pen 
behind his ear met them there. The merry 
berry-pickers seemed to draw all hearts towards 
them. 

But of all the people that gathered there when 
the shadows of the trees grew long in the lingering 
vermilion sunsets of the July days, the coming of 
Joseph Bonaparte to meet the children excited the 
most wonder. 

He would be seen in the shadows of the highway, 
slowly approaching the shady scene of rest and 
merriment and story-telling. 

Why should this man of politics and crowns 
and exiles so love to mingle with the humble berry- 
pickers, the children of the poor? 

Citizen Joseph’s heart was not quite at ease in 
his great house and great park. He longed for 
larger sympathy. 

He met the berry-pickers in a very gracious way. 
He would say : 

“ May I sit down with you in the cool after my 
walk? I love to take a little walk in the cool of the 
day and meet my neighbors. I want you all to feel 
free to come to the park. I am building the park 
in the thought that it may make you happy.” 

One day he said — 

“ I love children — I have a child — if ever I should 
leave the Delaware it would be to go to him.” 

The people all wondered at this. He did not say 
6 


82 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


— “ I have children,” but “-I have a child.” He had 
daughters, princesses. He had grandchildren, but 
he said — “ I have a child.” 

“ A child ! ” he spoke so tenderly that he touched 
Flossie’s heart. 

“ Who is the child ?” she asked. “ Is it a boy or 
a girl, Citizen Bonaparte ? ” 

“ He is a little boy, the heart of my heart, because 
he was the heart of my own brother’s heart. We 
will not talk of him now — I may tell you about him 
some day — some Christmas Day — when you come 
to see me at the hall. He lives far away.” 

They talked of the coming of Lafayette, under 
the trees, and Joseph related several stories of La- 
fayette there. He told them how Lafayette as the 
commander of the national guard in the stormy days 
of the revolution, when a great mob had gathered 
around the palace to jeer royalty, had led the poor 
queen, Marie Antoinette, all in white, out onto a 
balcony of the palace in full sight of her enemies, 
and had kissed her hand, and how that kiss had 
suddenly changed the hearts of those who had come 
there to fill the air with bowlings and cries and 
voices of discontent. It was a pretty story, which, 
when Little Lady Lucy heard, she set down her 
berry pail, and threw back her hood and said — 

“ Citizen Bonaparte ? ” 

“ Well, my good little woman?” 

“ Do you think that Lafayette will really ask you 
to open the doors to us when he comes to Borden- 
town ? My heart so goes out to him. I would 


LITTLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES. 83 

rather meet him than any man who ever lived 
except the apostles, and Washington.” 

She took off her hood, revealing her gray hair 
and wrinkled forehead. 

“Citizen Joseph, you said that you would open 
your doors to us that day, if Lafayette should desire 
it. Citizen Joseph, just say to him when he comes 
that we desire it. We will all be in the park.” 

“ If I were to hint to him that you desire to meet 
him, and that it would please me to have you meet 
him, he will ask me to open the doors to you all. I 
know the heart of Lafayette.” 

The old woman’s face grew bright, and she said — 

“ You are a good man. Citizen Joseph — let us all 
send up a cheer for the heart of Lafayette.” 

They cheered, and Benji from the door of the 
store cheered with them. 

Then Citizen Bonaparte said something that de- 
lighted all the berry-pickers. 

“ My friends,” said he, “ I want you to feel that 
I am building the park for you as well as for my- 
self. You are welcome to have your little picnics 
there, and to meet there at any time.” 

“ Now let us all cheer for Citizen Joseph,” said 
Little Lady Lucy. 

They cheered, and every one was happy when 
Flossie had a word to say in this parliament of berry- 
pickers under the trees at Benji’s store. 

She fluffed up from her seat, threw away discarded 
berries from her apron, and asked — 

“ On what day was Lafayette born ? ” 


84 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

“ On the 6th of September, my lady,” said Citizen 
Joseph. 

“ Why couldn’t we all celebrate it in the park? ” 

“ That is an excellent suggestion, a very excellent 
suggestion,” said Citizen Joseph. 

The pedagogue, Solomon Brown, with his quill- 
pen behind his ear, bent over almost double, and 
said — 

A very excellent suggestion. I will write a 
peom for the occasion.” 

“ And I will tell a story,” said the old Grenadier. 

“ And my scholars shall speak some pieces,” said 
Dame Toogood. 

“ But what could a poor old woman like me do ? ” 
asked Little Lady Lucy. 

“ You can gather wild asters, golden-rod and 
gentians,” suggested Flossie, ‘‘ and I will help you 
trim the summer house with them.” 

“ That I will,” said Little Lady Lucy, “ and then, 
and then — Oh — I do not dare to think of it.” 

What then, good woman ? ” asked Citizen 
Joseph. 

“ I will tell Lafayette what we all did to remem- 
ber him by, if I can ever get hold of his hand. I 
never thought that I would touch the hand of La- 
fayette, but the heart finds its way into the sanctuary 
of life.” 

The people looked very much surprised at these 
picturesque words. Little Lady Lucy rose up to 
go away, leaving her berries at the store for Benji 
to sell. How happy she looked ! How happy all 


LirrLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES. 85 

the berry-pickers looked ! And there was a serene 
and beautiful look in Joseph Bonaparte’s face as he 
turned away in the gathering shadows. 

He thought that the park would be used for one 
scene of happiness — he thought of the child whose 
history he had promised to tell — the child of his 
heart, because the child of Napoleon’s heart— the 
little King of Rome — so far away. For Napoleon 
when dying had entrusted this child to ‘ brother 
Joseph— so Citizen Joseph loved children for their 
own sake, and for the sake of the far away little 
King of Rome, whom Napoleon’s heart had en- 
trusted to him. 

If he were ever to leave the Delaware, and the 
great house that he had built, and the park that he 
was building, it would be to go to the son of Napo- 
leon, the little King of Rome. 

So Citizen Joseph loved children— and he would 
tell the children here about the child that he loved 
of all others, some day, perhaps Christmas Day. 

The berry-pickers talked of but one thing now 
the coming of Lafayette. All of them wished one 
thing might happen then — it was that Lafayette 
would speak kindly to Little Lady Lucy, and tell her 
the meaning of Auvergne sans tache. 

Some of my readers may like to learn how beauti- 
ful this park was, and some may think such details 
too dry. In a book entitled “Bonaparte Park and 
the Murats,” we find a description of this enchanting 
place, and we give to this account the rest of the 
chapter, which one may read or skip. We like to 


86 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


learn how fine Citizen Joseph could make his park for 
the delight of the good people. 

“ The park, which was laid out in the style of the 
Escurial grounds, was traversed by nearly twelve 
miles of drives and bridle-paths, winding through 
clustering pines and oaks, and planted on every 
knoll with statuary. Rustic cots or rain shelters, 
bowers and seats, sheltered springs and solitary re- 
treats were interspersed. Over several of the small 
streams and gullies that wound through and diversi- 
fied the grounds, were thrown rustic bridges. In 
digging for the foundation of one, the “ Savage,'’ 
near the creek, a number of Indian relics were 
found, from which the bridge derived its name. 

“ A narrow stream, which rises beyond the Thorn- 
town road, winds down through part of the ground 
between the mansion and the city. The valley of 
this little stream gradually increases in width until 
it crosses the Trenton road or Park street, where it 
expands into a broad lagoon, in which the tide of 
the creek ebbed and flowed to this point. 

“ The Count at great expense and labor, threw a 
brick arch over the stream and built a causeway, 
some twenty feet high, grading the road to nearly 
a level. Across the lower end of the lagoon he 
built an embankment, separating it from the creek. 
This formed a most picturesque lake, some two 
hundred yards broad and nearly half a mile long. 
The bluffs on either side were bold and rather 
abrupt, that towards the town being covered with a 
heavy growth of timber. On the other side. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES. 87 


along the edge of the lake, a fine carriage-drive was 
constructed, leading off sharp to the right near its 
end, up a wild ravine and under a high stone bridge. 
In the lake were several islands with velvet grass, 
young trees and beautiful shrubbery. Swans 
sported on the surface of the water, stairways wound 
down the banks, and little fleets of pleasure boats 
were moored in it and a cove of the creek. 

“ From the shore of the lake to his house was a 
subterraneous passage, walled up with brick, with 
heavy doors. It was about forty feet long and con- 
tained two passage-ways, one leading to the cellar 
and one into the house. The third door was the 
entrance to the ice-house. Extending beyond the 
wall containing the doors, some ten feet, was a 
greater arch of substantial and massive structure. 
The entrance leading to the mansion was connected 
by a covered way with the ‘ lake house,’ in which 
resided his daughter Zenaide. This passage or long 
shed, built upon the side of the bluff, was faced with 
lattice-work, and afforded a shelter from the inclem- 
ency of the weather. The entrance also served as a 
shelter-way in case of sudden showers, for parties 
who had been pleasuring on the water, and with this 
idea the Count had carved, in Italian, over the door- 
way : 

'' ' Not ignorant of evil, I learn to succor the 
unfortunate.’ 

“ The two short underground passage-ways above 
described are the only ones ever constructed by 
the Count, and, with the observatory, gave rise 


88 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

to the fanciful stories that the ex-king kept a sen- 
tinel posted upon the tower to watch for any 
hostile French or Spanish frigates that might sail 
up the Delaware to capture him. The story that he 
dug subterranean passages all through his grounds, 
the doors of which were of iron, and could be closed 
and bolted on the inside, and which led, seemingly, 
into the bowels of the earth, and had no egress, was 
all the pure invention of an imaginative writer. 
The end of the first described passage, where it 
entered the cellar of the old house, is walled up. 
Some inquisitive person went to the trouble of 
breaking a hole through the bricks, and was re- 
warded for his pains by the sight of the earth on 
the other side.” 

In a letter to the author, Mr. A. Mailliard says: 

I will now refer to some nonsense I have read 
about some subterranean galleries, etc., built by 
Joseph to escape from his home. The truth is 
simply this: When Joseph built the ‘ lake house’ 
for his daughter Zenaide and her household, he con- 
nected it by an underground gallery with the main 
house, for the faculty of service, and for her own 
use in bad weather. She used to come by that pas- 
sage to her father’s house. 

“Surrounding the mansion were the stables, ser- 
vants’ lodges, outbuildings, etc., and upon the 
ground the farmer’s and gardener’s houses.” 

All this was fine indeed, especially the inscrip- 
tion. 

Would you like to learn how an historian pictured 


LITTLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES. 89 


Citizen Joseph’s life among these wondering 
people ? 

The same sympathetic writer says — 

“ The Count was a great benefit to Bordentown, 
and gave the first great impulse to the place. Be- 
sides liberally patronizing the shops, he gave em- 
ployment to all who asked for it. Each one was 
required to furnish his own tools. The road along 
the park was graded and kept in a perfect state of 
repair. The grounds were leveled or raised, bushes 
or stumps grubbed out, trees planted by the hun- 
dreds, roads and paths built, and the ground thor- 
oughly under-drained, and, with his constant and 
various improvements, he found work for all. Very 
much of the work he superintended in person. 

If he designated any particular job for a man, 
even if it occupied but one hour, he expected him 
to remain at the spot until meal-time, if not directed 
to report at some other point. While he was not 
exacting of the men, nothing did he dislike more 
than a lazy or slow man, he wishing all to be 
sprightly, ready, and willing. He always paid n\ost 
liberal wages ; cash each day, and in hard money. 

Upon Christmas he presented each employee a 
sum of money varying from a quarter eagle to an 
eagle. He was always most Charitable to the poor. 
He often said he never had an American to ask him 
for money ; it was always work. The Count was 
very good to the citizens of the town, and allowed 
them all the privileges of his park, and, in winter, of 
the lake. When the skating was fine, he and his 


90 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

household would come down to the shore to see the 
sport, and it was one of his greatest pleasures to roll 
apples and oranges over the ice to see the skaters 
scamper after them. 

Philip Bellemere, who now resides in Borden- 
town, came over to Philadelphia in i8i6, when he 
was ten years old, and, in 1827, was taken into the 
Count s household as barber, and remained with him 
until a short time before he returned to Europe. 
He shaved and dressed the hair of the Count, his 
immediate family and guests, and probably attended 
on more distinguished foreigners than any one in 
the country. 

“ The Count was a splendid man, and looked like 
his brother, the grand Napoleon, only he was taller 
and stouter during the last years of his life. He 
wore his face smooth shaven and his hair cut close 
and brushed down over his forehead, like the Em- 
peror. He was rather reserved, always kind to his 
servants, but never familiar. He entertained hand- 
somely, and all the distinguished Frenchmen who 
came to this country were his guests. Lafayette, 
Moreau, and many of the foreign ministers were 
there. He drew around him many of the exiles 
from France, who, having followed the fortunes of 
the great Emperor, came to seek a refuge in Amer- 
ica. Clauzel, Lallemand, Desmonettes, and other 
distinguished Frenchmen received constant proofs 
of the goodness of his heart. All the great men of 
this country were there also. Among them were 
Clay, Webster, Adams, General Scott, Commodores 


LITTLE LADY LUCY UNDER THE TREES. 91 


Stewart, and Stockton. Henr}^ Clay, who spent 
several days with the Count, left his cane there. It 
is now in possession of Mr. Thorn.” 

It must have been delightful for the good people 
and the children to have had a neighbor like that. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY HAS COMPANY IN THE BERRY 
PASTURE. 

Year after year since her husband, the sentinel 
of Valley Forge, died, Lady Lucy had picked ber- 
ries in the summer weather. So she knew the pas- 
tures well — where the ponds were, where the flags 
and spotted lilies grew — where the red-winged black- 
bird watched by the nest of his quaker mate, where 
the Baltimore oriole hung her pouched nest under 
the cool leaves in the high trees, where the yellow 
bird had her nest of ribbon bark and natural cotton, 
and where the night hawk laid her eggs on rocks of 
her own color. She never disturbed these birds or 
their nests, and she loved to see the birds feed their 
young. 

There were rabbits in the wide woodlands of the 
gray rocks and rude stone walls, and quails in the 
margins of the woods. The quails whistled in cloud 
shadowed days. There were partridges that 
drummed, as she thought, on stumps. She had often 
tried to catch a partridge drumming, but she was 
never quite able to see the sight, but she hoped yet 
to discover the mystery. There were squirrels in 
the woodland trees. 

92 


COMPANY IN THE BERRY PASTURE. 93 

It was a mellow summer day. One of those when 
a clear, cool atmosphere follows a rain. Lady Lucy 
was picking blueberries near the wood line where 
were hillside trees. As she was busy and talking to 
herself, giving herself good advice, Flossie joined her. 

“ I’ve been hoping you would come,” said Lady 
Lucy. “ I’ve carried you in my heart all day. 
When I fill my pail — it is almost full now — we’ll go 
to the shade of the trees where the cows are chew- 
ing their cuds, and I think that I will show you one 
of the most wonderful things that you ever saw. It 
is a secret, but I will tell it to you.” 

The good woman quickly filled her pail, and then 
helped Flossie pick berries for a half hour, when she 
rose up, saying, “ Conquiddles ! ” and went to the 
great trees whose tops were now full of the light of 
the sunset. 

“ It is almost sundown,” said she, and the boys 
will soon be coming for the cows. Sit down, and 
let me whistle. Quails whistle before a storm — I 
understand their language. They say ‘ more wet.’ 
I can talk with some of the birds.” ■"* 

The two sat down. The old woman took off her 
sunbonnet — “ calash ” — she called her queer head 
covering, and began to whistle soothingly in a very 
silvery and kindly tone. 

He’s coming,” said she. 

‘‘ Who’s coming? ” asked Flossie. 

“ The chipmunk— the wood fairy, you might call 
him.” 

A little ground squirrel called a chipmunk came 


94 


THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


running and halting along the dry bushes. He 
was very bold. He came within a few feet of them, 
then stopped, rose on his hind feet, and put up his 
fore paws. 

“ He’s going to pray,” said Flossie. 

“ Be still now. He’s going to talk with me. We 
have talks together sometimes.” 

“ Chipper, chipper, chipper,” said the squirrel. 

“ What did he say then ? ” asked Flossie. 

“ He said, ‘ If you’ll be friendly. I’ll be friendly.’ ” 

The chipmunk came to the hem of Lady Lucy’s 
gown, and stopped again. 

“ Chipper, chipper, chipper — cherry ! ” 

“ What did he say then?” asked Flossie all ex- 
citement. 

“ He said, ‘ What have you brought for me? 

She took out of her pockets some kernels of corn, 
and held them out to him one by one. These he 
stowed away in a very mysterious manner. They 
disappeared. 

What does he do with them ? ” asked Flossie. 

“ He carries a purse in his mouth,” said Lady 
Lucy ; “don’t you, my cunning little fairy ? ” 

“ Why don’t he answer ? ” asked Flossie. 

“ He does. There he goes. When he does that 
he says — ‘ I’m going away now.’ You see how well 
I understand the language of the woods.” 

“ I wonder if they have such things in Heaven ?” 
asked Flossie. 

“ You don’t expect to go there soon ? ” said Lady 
Lucy. 


COMPANY IN THE BERRY PASTURE. 


95 


Sometimes I think I will. My little sister has 
gone there now. She went in Switzerland.” 

The sun was going down, sprinkling the pastures 
with showers of scattered light. The boys came for 
the cows, and the old woman “ shewed ” them up 
from the green moss and partridge berries where 
they were resting. 

Then the boys, cows, and the berry-pickers all went 
towards the pasture bars, and separated, and all re- 
turned home over the dusty road. The air was still 
and echoed, and as Flossie parted from Little Lady 
Lucy she kissed her. The kiss went right to the 
old woman’s heart. 

Pierre Falaise sometimes joined the berry-pickers. 
He was more interested in the wild flowers of the 
pastures than the berries, and he used to tell the 
pickers of the wild flowers of Switzerland that car- 
peted the mountains where the bees lived. He told 
them lovely tales of Swiss honey. 

As the great park of Joseph Bonaparte grew in 
beauty, it made the good people of Bordentown 
happy, for they were made to feel that they all had 
a part in it. Its gates stood open. They were at 
liberty to wander there free. Pierre caused new and 
wonderful flowers to be planted in the town. 

But Little Lady Lucy said to Pierre in the berry 
pasture, where she was at work, one day — 

** A king may have a garden where all the flowers 
of the world may tell us of the thoughts of Heaven 
everywhere, but it is the garden of nature that 
makes me content. Think what my soul enjoys in 


96 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


that garden. The blue violets come, and the honey- 
suckles, the sweet-brier roses. Then follow the flow- 
ers of berry-time — the lilies. The blue lilies delight 
me, and the spotted lilies make me wonder, but the 
white lilies make me contented. They meet the 
wish in my soul. We are always seeking for things 
that make the soul satisfied. White lilies satisfy 
me. I love the swamp apple-blossoms and the wild 
asters.’’ 

“You are a kindergartner,” said Pierre. 

“ What is that ? ’’ asked the old child-woman. 

“ You have a kindergarten soul.” 

“ How? — I do not understand these things.” 

“You seek contentment in what is best, and are 
not satisfied until you find these symbols of what is 
perfect in life.” 

“ I am not perfect — but I do pray, ‘ Create a right 
spirit in me.’ I never could be contented without 
having a right spirit— a spirit that helps everybody 
and hinders nobody ; it is a good thing to have a 
right spirit ; it makes what is crooked straight. Tell 
me something about Froebel — do your people make 
an idol of him ? ” 

“ No, no, but he sought to put Christ into the 
school, and we like a teacher who would make the 
world better in that way.” 

After picking berries awhile the old woman and 
Pierre and Flossie went to the shade of the great 
trees to “ pick over ” the berries, and some of “ Dame 
Toogood’s school children ” joined them. 

“Tell me a story of Froebel,” said Lady Lucy. 


COMPANY IN THE BERRY PASTURE. 97 

“ I will tell you a true story of him here,” said 
Pierre. “ True in spirit. 

“ He was once journeying from the Rhine towards 
the mountains. It was in summer time and the 
gardens were in bloom and all the birds were singing. 

There were great castles along the way, and 
about the castles were gardens, and in the gardens 
were flowers. 

‘‘Froebel stopped at every green castle-gate to 
study the flowers. There were red flowers and 
purple flowers in the gardens, and golden flowers, 
the color of the sun. 

“But the red flowers did not satisfy his inner 
sense of beauty. 

“ Nor the purple flowers. 

“ Nor the yellow flowers — the golden flowers of 
the sun. 

“ He wondered why he was not contented at heart 
where there was so much fragrance and beauty. 

“Now there are gardeners who plant flowers for 
the eye, and florists who plant flowers for the heart 
— and for the eye of the soul. 

“ He asked his soul why it was not quite con- 
tented. Then he wandered on, resting by wayside 
streams, amid wild flowers and hedges. 

“ He came at last to a peasant’s flower-garden be- 
fore the door, where a well overflowed. The peasant 
had a true soul. In the garden were lilies, and the 
flowers of red, blue, and yellow were gathered 
around the lilies, and the lilies in the center of the 
garden were white. 

7 


98 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ As his eye fell upon them Froebel’s soul was 
filled with joy of contentment. 

“ I once wrote out the little story in verse. I love 
to turn incidents that please me — white lilies — into 
as choice language as I can. Flossie, repeat to 
Lady Lucy my verses on 

“FROEBEL’S LILY.” 

I. 

“ The world was all thrilling with beauty, 

In scented dews wakened the morn, 

The breath of the w'est wmd was waking 
The bright, laughing blades of the corn. 

And oft ’mid the gardens upspringing. 

The world thrilled with beauty divine. 

And feet wandered happy and singing 

From the mountains of Hartz to the Rhine. 

It was the high tide of the year 
When the flowers in perfection appear. 

11 . 

“ From the Rhineland there journeyed young Froebel 
Towards the meadowy mountains, to see 
The roses, and hear the birds singing : — 

They were brothers to him, bird and tree. 

He rested by gardens of castles. 

Where roses ’mid green ivies hung. 

And over the ivies and roses 
The glad linnets quivering sung. 

Said the birds as he went on his way, 

‘ What is wanting, O pilgrim, to-day ? ’ 

III. 

“ He stopped at the gate of each garden 
Of flowers the peasants had sown. 

But he found not a garden that filled him 
With the joy that he elsewhere had known. 


COMPANY IN THE BERRY PASTURE. 99 

‘ What is wanting ? ’ he wondered and murmured, 

‘ The world is like Paradise fair ; 

On the bowers are roses and roses, 

And the linnets are singing in air. 

What is wanting, O Earth, in thy bowers ? 

What is wanting, my heart, in the flowers ^ 


IV. 

“ ‘ There’s a flower to my heart that is wanting — 

A flower that contentment bestows 
On the lone way from garden to garden. 

On the lone way from rose unto rose.’ 

Then he came to a soul-planted garden 
Of lilies — his heart at the sight 
Was filled with contentment and rapture, 

. One bed of lilies was white ! 

Then his heart breathed the fragrance of prayer 
And was tuned to the birds in the air. 


V. 

“ ‘ O lilies ! white lilies ! Christ’s lilies ! 

It was you that was wanting,’ he cried 
‘ Red roses and bright amaryllis 
May be to my vision denied. 

But the white humble flower of perfection 
To satisfy me must be mine ! ’ 

And Froebel went happy and singing 

Towards the mountains of Hartz from the Rhine, 

And his heart in the paradise fair 
Felt the joy of the birds of the air ! ” 

Will we have white lilies when Lafayette comes ? ” 
asked Flossie. “ That would be after the manner of 
the words he said to Washington. But — I almost 
told the secret then, didn’t I, papa ” 

He will come in the aster time — we will have 
white asters then,” said Pierre. 

More than a park the commonplace berry pasture 


loo THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

became to. these souls, as their inner sight developed 
to see the beauty in common things. 

A stream flowed through the wood behind the 
pasture, one of the branches of the Delaware. An 
old mill stood there. It was deserted. The berry- 
pickers went there sometimes, for the water-fall made 
the shadows cool. 

“ The old miller is dead now,” said Lucy to Pierre 
one day. ‘‘ His name was Vander Palm. It is' said 
that he could grind over old people young, but that 
if the old person had any inside crookedness, he 
couldn’t be ground. I would never have done — you 
would. I never heard that the old miller found any^ 
grist.” 

“ So you have legends as well as we,” said Pierre, 

“ and the same thought of how to become better is 
in them all ; for that thought the flowers bloom, and ** 
birds sing and streams flow.” 

Those were happy days— and Lafayette was to 
come in the fall, and the dream of meeting a man 
who was perfect in his intentions, was much after 
the manner of the ideal of the lily and the mill. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY AND DAME TOOGOOD MEET IN 
THE ROAD. THE WOODPECKER’S NEST AND 
ITS TENANT. 

«> 

The park had a large lake house, and in this a son- 
in-law of Count Joseph Bonaparte “ Citizen Joseph” 
began to build up a museum. He was called “The 
Prince ” among the country folk, as visitors spoke of 
ex-king Joseph as the Count. The Prince probably 
found time to become wearisome at Borden- 
town, so he took a great interest in animals, birds, 
insects, and fish, and in everything that promised to 
adorn his mansion. He liked to have the country 
folk bring to him “ specimens.” A strange bird 
delighted him, or a little animal that no man could 
name. The children brought him specimens that 
they found in the woods — the red bird, the crying 
loon, the osprey fallen from its high nest, the night- 
hawk, and. like interesting inhabitants of the air. 

Before the coming of Pierre Falaise the boys used 
to lay snares for little birds and animals that they 
thought would prove acceptable to the Prince for 
his museum. But the Swiss teaching of Pierre made 
a new conscience for the schools, and Little Lady 
Lucy in her berry school favored the ideas of Pierre. 

^ lOI 


102 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

Such ideas were not new to her. She had learned 
them from her own heart. 

One day in the bowery berry pasture, two boys 
made a discovery. It was a pigeon woodpecker’s 
nest in a hollow tree. They saw three or four heads 
of young woodpeckers look out of the opening to 
the deep hollow in the tree, which the parent wood- 
pecker had made. 

The sight thrilled them. They dropped their 
berry baskets and pails. 

We will get them for the Prince,” said one. 

“ They will be the finest things in his collection of 
birds,” said the other. “ The people will all come 
to see them. The pigeon woodpecker is the beauti- 
fulest thing that has wings.” 

“We must shut them in,” said one. “Let us 
cover up the hole.” 

Let us go to Lady Lucy, and tell her what we 
have found, and put the young birds in her covered 
basket.” 

They hurried away to Lady Lucy who was pick- 
ing berries as if for life, in the cool shadow of a 
hornbine. 

“A Lady Lucy ! Lady Imcycome and see what 
we have found,” exclaimed each out of breath. 

And what is it that you have found ? I mustn’t 
waste time, none of us must ; time isn’t like spilled 
berries— you can never gather it up again. 

“ But we have found a treasure— the beautifulest 
thing that has wings.” 

Do tell me, Conquiddles and hoppergrasses ! 


THE WOODPECKER’S NEST. 103 

Do tell me right off now, what it is that you have 
found ! ” 

“ A woodpecker’s nest.” 

“ Is that what you have found ? Well, let it be — 
woodpeckers are friendly birds and kill the grubs ; 
let it be. Woodpeckers enjoy nature as much as 
you or I,— and it is their right— God made the sun 
for them ! ” 

“ But Lady Lucy, Lady Lucy — this is a golden 
woodpecker’s nest — a pigeon woodpecker’s nest, the 
crowned woodpecker — spotted— and the hollow of 
the tree is full of young ones. We’ve seen three of 
them. They were looking out, waiting for the old 
ones to return. When they saw us they drew their 
heads into the hollow tree. 

“ What made them do that ? You wouldn’t harm 
them.” 

“ But the Prince ” 

The old birds want their young ones more than 
the Prince.” 

“ But we are going to take one or two of them to 
the Prince — it is in interest of science.” 

“ I pity their mother,” said Lady Lucy, rising 
from the bushes. “ I don’t know what to say. My 
heart tells me one thing and my head another.” 

The boys ran towards the hollow tree again. But 
nothing was to be seen there now but the opening 
to the hollow where the carpenter woodpeckers had 
made the nest. 

The boys climbed up the tree. They reached 
down their arms into the hollow, but could touch 


104 the bordentown story-tellers. 

nothing. They then gathered up some sticks and 
filled the opening to the hollow, and lowered them- 
selves to the ground. 

“ We will come back to-morrow,” they said. 

They went back to Lady Lucy again. 

“ We have shut them in,” they said. “ We will 
get them to-morrow. We will bring hatchets.” 

They lived some miles away. 

Lady Lucy looked troubled. 

“ Go and show me where the nest is,” said she 
“ ril follow you there.” 

She went to the place. High up in an old tree 
was the opening to the hollow, full of sticks. 

“ Why did you fill the hole with sticks ? ” said 
she. 

“ So that they wouldn’t get away. The old one 
would come back, and when she saw her nest has been 
found she would coax them to fly away. They can 
fly. They are feathered. 

Just here one of the parent birds returned, all 
brown and gold spots of beauty. 

She ran wildly up and down the bark of the near 
trees. She looked toward Lady Lucy and uttered a 
cry of distress. 

See her wings quiver,” said Little Lady Lucy. 
“ Now boys, I don’t think as I used to about dumb 
animals. If I were in your place, Ld let the car- 
penter bird have her own children. We are not 
only to do to other people as we would be done by, 
but to do the same by all things, animals, birds, and 
boys, and everything.” 


THE WOODPECKER’S NEST. 


I OS 

" But the Prince,” said one^ of the boys. 

“ The museum in the lake-house,” said the other. 

“ But the bird,” said Little Lady Lucy. “ See her 
now, her beautiful wings that the sun made all quiv- 
ering. How do you suppose her heart feels ? ” 

Lady Lucy shook her head and turned away, and 
climbed over the wall and set out for her home. Her 
heart was as full of woodpeckers as was the hollow- 
tree. 

It was near nightfall, and the shadows of the 
wood fell across the way. As she was hurrying 
along she met Dame Toogood. 

“ Oh Dame Toogood, Dame Toogood, I’m glad 
to have met you,” she said. “ Something has hap- 
pened ! ” 

“ Nothing bad, I hope.” 

“ I don’t know — my conscience burns like fire.” 

‘‘ What is it ? ” 

“ There’s a golden woodpecker’s nest, in a tree in 
the woods, and. some boys have filled up the hole 
in the hollow, and shut in the young, and to-morrow 
they are coming with hatchets, to get the young to 
carry to the Prince.” 

That will fill him with joy — the carpenter bird 
is scarce in these parts now.” 

“ But, Dame Toogood, I went. to see the nest after 
the boys had shut in the young ones, and what do 
you think happened ? ” 

“ What, Lady Lucy ? ” 

V The mother bird came, and when she saw me 
standing there she bowed and spoke to me. Her 


io6 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

voice was very pitiful. I can understand the lan- 
guage of birds. They speak by tones. I can read 
voices. What would you do ? ” 

“ If the bird spoke to me, I would say God spoke 
to me. I pity a mother bird, don’t you ? ” 

“ Don’t I — my heart aches now — it will ache all 
night.” 

“ Let us go back in the morning and protect the 
birds.” 

“ That I will — you go with me."” 

And I will ask Flossie to go with us both. 
She’s studied kindergarten, which favors care for 
birds.” 

Strangely enough. Little Lady Lucy found Dame 
Toogood on the road the next morning. 

I haven’t slept a wink to-night for thinking of 
those birds,” said Little Lady Lucy. 

They went into the pasture and into the woods 
beyond them where was the nest in the hollow of 
the tree. 

A strange thing had happened. The sticks had 
been removed from the hole and lay upon the 
ground amid the chips that the bird had made in 
hollowing the cavity for her nest. 

All was silent about the tree. No parent birds 
were seen. 

“ Let us pick berries until the boys come,” said 
frugal Little Lady Lucy. 

They sat down in a dewy place amid wild roses 
and swamp apples, out of the hot morning sun, and 
worked for two hours. 



The boys dropped to the ground. 




THE WOODPECKER’S NEST. 


107 


Towards noon the boys came, bringing hatchets. 
They had been detained to work in the morning 
fields. 

“ You there, boys ! ” shouted Dame Toogood. 

But they did not heed. 

They hurried to the tree, and Little Lady Lucy, 
and Dame Toogood, and Flossie followed them. 

The boys were greatly surprised to find their 
sticks thrown out of the hole. 

“ The women didn’t do that,” said one of them. 
“ They can’t climb.” 

They climbed up a tr^e and sat on a limb near the 
nest. Everything was silent about the tree and in 
the tree, except one inquisitive bluejay that came 
lifting her hood and cawing in a sharp, shrill 
voice. 

One of the boys struck the tree with his hatchet 
over the hollow that the carpenter bird had made. 
Something appeared in the top of the hole. 

It was not a woodpecker’s head. 

The boys dropped to the ground. 

It was the head of a snake ! 

Dame Toogood shouted “ Run ! ” 

She led the way. Little Lady Lucy followed, 
crying “ Conquiddles ! ” her bonnet flying by the 
strings. 

The boys caught the panic, and went after the 
women. 

Flossie’s little head was full of ideas now. 
When they had reached the open pasture, Flossie 
asked — 


io8 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

“ What did the bird do with her family ? ” 

“ She has moved it,” said Dame Toogood, ‘‘ and 
left her tenant to keep house for her.” 

“ I don’t blame her for moving,” said Flossie. 
Nor I,” said Lady Lucy. 


CHAPTER XV. 


FLOSSIE’S WONDERS. 

Flossie walked home between Little Lady Lucy 
and Dame Toogood, turning her head towards one 
and the other, and wondering. 

“ I wonder,” said she, “1 wonder. Dame Too- 
good.” 

“ And what do you wonder ? ” 

“ I wonder how the sticks got out of the hollow 
tree.” 

But that is no wonder,” said the dame. “ The 
old birds pulled them out. They are carpenters.” 

“ But I wonder how the little pigeon woodpeck- 
ers got out of the hollow.” 

“ That is no wonder,” said the dame. “ The 
mother bird came to the door and told them to 
come out and fly. That was early in the morning, 
you may believe. She probably had worked on the 
sticks during the night, chopping them up and pull- 
ing them out.” 

‘‘ But I wonder if when I was a tiny baby if 
mother had come to me and told me. to run, if I 
could have run. How did the little woodpeckers 
know how to fly ? ” 

“ That is no wonder. Instinct.” 

109 


1 lO 


THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ Where does instinct come from ? ” 

“ From nature.” 

“ Does nature know ? ” 

“ A Divine power behind' nature knows.” 

Flossie turned to Little Lady Lucy. 

“ Lady Lucy, I wonder, O, I wonder.” 

“ What do you wonder, now ? ” 

“ I wonder how the snake got into the hollow.” 

“ That is no wonder. It was warm there before 
the little birds flew away. Snakes do such things.” 

“ Does he live with the little birds } ” 

“ Likely.” 

“ Did he not tear them to pieces? ” 

Do you tear in pieces a warm bed when it is 
cold ? ” 

“ He must have felt lonesome after the family all 
moved away.” 

“ Perhaps he did not live there, but came up 
there after the little birds had gone.” 

“ Did he climb the tree ? ” 

He may — or crept into the hollow from other 
hollows in the tree.” 

Flossie continued wondering. There were many 
things in nature that she did not know. 

When they came to the park, she went to the 
Park House, to tell the Prince the wonders that she 
had seen. ’ 

“I wish,” said the Prince, “that I could have 
secured one of the golden woodpeckers.” 

“ What would you have done with it ? ” asked 
Flossie wondering. 


FLOSSIE’S WONDERS. 


Ill 


“ I would have had it stuffed, and mounted it, 
little Switzer.” 

“ That would have been real good, but what would 
it have had to eat ? ” 

‘‘ Stuffed birds don’t eat, little Switzer.” 

“ You would not have taken off its skin, would 
you ? ” 

“Yes, certainly. How could I have made a 
specimen of it otherwise ? ” 

“Then I am real glad.” 

“ Of what, little Switzer ? ” 

“ That the birds moved. I think that the snake 
was real good to watch out. It shook him up to 
have the boy strike the hollow with his hatchet. 
He must have been very much surprised. He was. 
The boys were, too. They dropped right down from 
the tree and we all ran. Good Prince, don’t you 
think that instinct is very good ? ” 

“Yes, yes, my little girl.” 

“ Would Lafayette be glad to see a golden wood- 
pecker ? ” 

“ He might ; yes, a real golden woodpecker of 
the native woods.” 

“ I’m sorry for him, but you can show him one in 
a tree, a real live one — stuffed birds do not know. 
The mother bird came and spoke to Little Lady 
Lucy, and asked her to send the boys away from 
the nest.” 

The Prince began to wonder, too. 

“ That was a very remarkable bird,” said he. 

“ It was,” said Flossie. 


II2 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


When school began Pierre visited Dame Toogood 
often, and he formed in her rooms a Sunday-school, 
to study the parables of the Bible. 

They had no Sunday-school library or children’s 
papers. So he used to relate a story after the exer- 
cises. Once after the school had studied the para- 
ble of the Prodigal Son, he related the following 
story which was like one that greatly influenced the 
life of Froebel : 


CHAPTER XVI. 


PIERRE’S STORY OF “ THE MAGIC RING,” AND THE 
SWISS STORY OF “ WONDERFUL HARRY ! ” 

A story that Froebel used to relate was like this: — 

An old mother was dying. 

She was poor ; even her bed was poor, but the 
birds sang gaily on the wings of air, and the roses 
bloomed without her lattice and breathed out their 
soul of beauty in perfumes. 

She had one child, a bright boy named Peter. 
She felt that she would not last long in this beau- 
tiful world, but she knew that the world would not 
be less beautiful to her when her soul was released, 
it would be brighter in God’s way, always further 
on, and on. 

“ Peter, come here. Your poor mother is going 
now, and I have but one thing to leave you. Let 
me put it on your finger.” 

She took a ring off her finger, and put it upon his. 

“ It comes off my finger easy, but it goes hard 
upon yours. It once went hard upon mine, but 
days of pain has made its going easy. It will make 
its going easy to you some day, unless you part 
with it — which may God forbid. Never take it off 
while it goes hard.” 

8 113 


1 14 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


It was near sunset. 

Hold up your hand in the sun, Peter.’' 

Peter held up his hand. The ring gleamed. 

“That is a magic ring, Peter. It will prick your 
finger whenever you are tempted to do wrong, and 
squeeze it tight. If you should ever part with that 
ring, you would lose the true guide to your soul. 
Never part with it, Peter. As long as you keep it, 
you will have a happy heart and will prosper.” 

She turned away her head and was still, and 
while Peter went to call a neighbor, her soul was 
released and went away into the brighter brightness. 

Motherless Peter fared hard in the world. But 
whenever he was tempted to bad words or deeds 
the ring pricked and squeezed his finger, and he 
thought of his mother. Yes, he thought of his 
mother, and how she had wished him well. 

But at last he fell among evil companions. His 
heart was led away from a true life, and the ring 
pricked and squeezed his finger all the time. 

He began to get angry at the faithful ring. 

One evening as he was going to the gaming table 
with some gay companions, the ring pricked his 
finger and squeezed it unusually hard. 

“ I will have done with it,” said he. 

He was passing over a bridge. The moon shone 
on the water, and beyond the bridge gleamed the 
red lights of the saloon whither he was going. The 
ring pricked him unusually hard as he saw the red 
lights, and he tried to slip the ring off his finger, 
but it clung to it tightly, and pricked him sharply. 


PIERRE TELLS TWO STORIES. 


”5 


But he got it off at last, and dropped it over the 
bridge into the dark, rushing waters of the river. 
His conscience burned like fire as he saw it bubble 
and disappear. 

“ It came off hard,” said he, “ and it will never 
trouble me again, nor by falling off easy at the hour 
of death.” 

The ring pricked not his finger, nor squeezed it, any 
more. He was merry and free. But something had 
gone out of him when he parted with the ring, and 
often before going to sleep and on waking he 
seemed to hear hiS; old mother’s voice — 

Never take it off while it goes hard.” 

The Future had gone out of his soul. 

Now no soul can be without the past and the 
present, so no soul can be happy without the 
Future, and Peter used to go down to the bridge 
and look into the water and say — 

I parted with the future with the ring. I would 
give the world for the ring.” 

A diver was there one day, and Peter told him his 
tale. 

“ I will go down and search for the ring,” said 
the diver. 

And the diver went down in the rolling waters 
and at last found the ring. 

The ring went on easy now, and that troubled 
Peter. It did not prick his finger very sharply or 
squeeze it very much when he sawthe red lights again, 
and heard the oaths of the gamesters uttered with 
fuming breath. This, too, troubled Peter. It was 


ii6 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


the ring indeed, but not the old one. He himself 
would have to make it the old ring now — make it 
prick his finger sharply, and squeeze it hard again. 

He began to obey the voice of duty within, and 
seek that which was good for all. As he did this 
the ring grew sharper, and squeezed his finger harder 
when temptations came, and at last he lived so well 
that the ring pricked sharper and squeezed harder 
than it had done before. 

“ O blessed, blessed ring ! ” he said, “ thou wilt 
make me happy when death shall come to take me 
away, and disease shall make thee free for death to 
receive thee ! 

And what was that ring? Heaven lends it to all 
and the world calls it Conscience, and it pricks and 
squeezes all fingers, and he who parts with it, loses 
all that gives life its true joy. 

Never lose the ring while it comes off hard, and 
when death calls for it, thou shalt.pass on into the 
brighter brightness. It goes on hard at first and it 
comes off easy at last, but if heeded to the end it is 
faithful to the faithful heart. 

There is no jewel like that ring on the finger of 
the soul. 

Having related a Froebel-like parable, he told an 
historical story of another school-master : 

The Story of Wonderful Harry. 

There was once a boy who was born in Zurich in 
1746, who was so queer and awkward that many of 


PIERRE TELLS TWO STORIES. 117 

the people laughed at him, and had such good 
dreams of helping others, and blundered so often in 
trying to carry them out that the over-wise people 
call him “ Wonderful Harry.” They wondered often 
what Wonderful Harry would do next. He failed in 
everything that he undertook, and yet there was 
such good intention in all that he attempted to do 
that no man for hundreds of years has probably 
exerted so great a beneficent influence in the 
world. 

Wonderful Harry was poor, but he liked to pur- 
chase cakes to give to those who had none. 

• One day he went to purchase cakes of a little girl 
who kept a store for her folks across the way. 

“ I cannot sell them to you,” said the girl. “ You 
are poor and do not need them. You should 
spend your money only for things that you 

need.” . 

When WonderM Harry grew up, he married this 

girl who refused to sell him the cakes. The house 
where the little girl sold cakes is now the Pesta- 
lozzi Museum at Zurich. 

After marrying this prudent girl whom he so 
much needed, he wrote to her a certain letter, a part 
of which I will read : 

. “ I am glad to find that you, too, think life in a 
town unsuited to the sort of education we think 
best. My cottage must certainly be far from such 
a centre of vice and misery. I shall be able to do 
more for my country in a solitary hut than in the 
tumult of the city. When I am in the country, and 


ii8 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

see that one of my neighbors who is in want has a 
child of great promise, I shall take this child by the 
hand and make a good citizen of him. He will 
work ; he will have enough to eat, and will be happy. 
And should this young man do a noble action and 
incur the scorn of those who fear men only, he will 
find food in my house as long as I have any. I 
shall take pleasure in drinking nothing but water to 
give him the milk I prefer, that he may see how 
much I esteem the nobleness of his character. 
And then, my beloved, you will be content to see 
me drinking water only.” 

He established a school for soldiers’ orphans at 
Stanz. He was very poor and his pupils fared 
poorly. While in this situation, when he could 
scarcely find food for the children to eat, a new 
pupil applied for admittance to the school, one per- 
haps poorer than the rest. He has told the story of 
this school in the following manner, as I gather from 
his works : 

“ When the neighboring town of Altdorf was 
burned down, I gathered the children round me and 
said : ^ Altdorf has been burnt down. Perhaps at 
this moment there are a hundred children there 
without home, food, or clothes. Will you not ask 
our good government to let twenty of them come 
and live with us ? ’ I still seem to see the emotion 
with which they answered : ‘ Oh, yes ! yes ! ’ 

‘ But, my children,’ I said, ‘ think well of what you 
are asking ! Even now we have scarcely money 
enough, and it is not at all certain that if these poor 


PIERRE TELLS TWO STORIES. 


119 

children come to us the government would give us 
any more than they do at present, so that you might 
have to work harder, share your clothes with these 
children, and sometimes, perhaps, go without food. 
Do not say, then, that you would like them to come 
unless you are quite prepared for all these con- 
sequences.’ After having spoken to them in this 
way as seriously as I could, I made them repeat all 
I had said, to be sure that they had thoroughly 
understood what the consequences of their request 
would be. But they were not in the least shaken in 
their decision, and all repeated; ‘Yes, yes; we 
are quite ready to work harder, eat less, and share 
our clothes, for we want them to come.’ ” (Copied 
Translation.) 

Wonderful Harry continued to live for others, and 
his wife looked out for the cakes, of which they did 
not have many. 

He established at the Castle of Burgdorf, Switzer- 
land, the first public school in the world — the begin- 
ning of the Kingdom of Heaven of free educa- 
tion. That school, by its influence, is filling the 
world. 

The Wonderful Harry, still poor, hungry, and al- 
most in rags, founded an institute to train teachers 
for free public school teachers. 

It was at Yverdun or Yverdon. Froebel was one 
of his pupils here. 

On the monument to Pestalozzi, erected at Yver- 
don, Switzerland, in 1890, is the following simple 
outline of this wonderful story : — 


120 T-HE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

“ To Pestalozzi, 1746-1827. 

He lived like a beggar, to show beggars how 
they ought to live like men. 

Savior of the poor in Neuhof. 

Father of the orphans in Stanz. 

Founder of the popular school in Burgdorf. 

Educator of humanity in Yverdon. 

All for others ; for himself, nothing ! ” 

Froebel desired to found a new system of educa- 
tion, that would make that which was spiritual life’s 
first study. The first lesson that he had received 
at school was — 

“ First seek ye the Kingdom of God and His 
righteousness.” He desired to found a system of 
child education on that principle. Weeds can be 
rooted out when young and true harvests be left 
free to grow. 

As he grew old he was still poor and he wrote — 

“ For thirty years I have had to forego many of 
the barest necessities of life, and have had to shun 
the society of my fellowmen from a sheer lack of 
decent clothes. Many and many a time have I gone 
without a dinner, and eaten in bitterness a dry crust 
of bread upon the road, at a time when even the 
poorest were seated around a table. All this have I 
suffered, with no other object than the welfare of 
mankind.” 

He died full of years, poverty and detraction. 
His doctor said that he knew when the angel came 
to fetch his soul— for his face became full of light 
as though he had entered a kingdom of glory. 

He treated all people alike. Once a prince sent 


PIERRE TELLS TWO STORIES. 121 

a carriage for him. He was not used to riding in 
coaches. He entered the coach. He looked around 
and saw a footman behind him. 

“ What are you up there for? ” he asked. 

“ I do not know, sir.’' 

“ Nor do I. Get down, get down, and come and 
sit here beside me in the coach and we will talk the 
matter over,” or words like these. 

The footman got down and rode beside Wonder- 
ful Harry. They talked the matter over. 

“ I think that I ride up there because I lack an 
education.”" 

“ That is it,” said Wonderful Harry. “ The time 
will come when all men will have an education.” 

It is coming. 

That man. Wonderful Harry, was Pestalozzi, 
whose great soul is filling the world. 

He wrote a poem before he died, called “ O bow 
of Heaven.” I have always loved the poem, and 
have enlarged upon its leading thoughts. Flossie 
will give you my interpretation of it, in my own 
words : 

THE LAST SONG OF PESTALOZZI. 

O BOW OF HEAVEN. 

I sing to thee, O bow of God, 

Thy light has cheered me all my days 

And changed to glory every cloud ; 

I give to the Eternal praise. 

Shine on ; and light, O bow of God, 

My tottering feet, my shaded ways. 

In thee I read the eternal word. 

And give to the Eternal praise. 


122 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

O bow of God, while thou shall shine, 

Hope evermore her wing may raise ; 

My soul is filled with light divine, 

And gives to the Eternal praise. 

On the Saturday following the opening of the 
Parable School, the school made a walk with Pierre 
along the Delaware. They had not gone far, when 
they met an old man from the town house in a near 
village, who had lost his way. 

“ I must take him to the right road,’’ said Pierre. 

“ I will do it,” said one of the little boys. 

‘And I.” 

“ And I.” 

So said many voices. 

“ No, I must do it,” said Pierre. 

He led the old man to the open highway. 

That was an acted parable. 

That day when the company stopped to rest, 
Pierre related to them the following story, one of 
the most beautiful of French stories, often told in dif- 
ferent ways in the French rural homes. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


FRENCH STORY OF THE MOOR COW. 

There was once a family who lived near Cam- 
brai, in the department of the Nord, France, on the 
moor or pasture land. They were good people, but 
poor, and their chief support was a cow. This cow 
was a very docile creature, and the good folk treated 
her as one of . the family. 

The children of the family grew up with the cow. 
They led her to the pasture in the morning and 
brought her home at night, fed her and watered her, 
and sheltered her in a stable adjoining their own 
cottage when the wild winds blew over the moor, 
and the autumn rains beat the trees, and the snows 
came drifting down from the north. The);- cared 
for her kindly, and she supplied them with food, for 
the pastures of the Nord were wide and green. 

She was a fine animal. As the children had but 
few treasures, they were very proud of her. They 
liked to follow her to the pastures, where flowers 
bloomed in the dew, and where larks sung on the long 
summer days. The cow wore a bell and dragged a 
rope. 

It was late in the autumn of the Nord. The 
grass had grown thin and dry and juiceless, and the 

123 


124 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

cow must eat good food to supply milk for butter and 
cheese and the bowl. So she sometimes wandered 
far away among the bushes beyond the moor, for 
the grass was sheltered there. 

One day the moor cow was missing. The chil- 
dren went for her to bring her home, but she was 
nowhere to be found. They searched the pastures 
near and far, and tried to hear the tinkle of her bell, 
but no sound broke the stillness of the moor any- 
where except the whirr of the wings of the moor- 
hen. 

They called for her, and waited to see her come 
running, tinkling her bell and dragging her rope, 
which was long and ran along the ground. 

The shadows of night were falling, and the chil- 
dren began to cry. They ran hither and thither, say- 
ing “ Mooly cow, mooly cow ! ’’ but no mooly cow 
came. 

They asked every one that they met— 

“ Have you seen our cow — a black cow with five 
white spots on her head, and a bell on her neck and 
a rope for leading on her horns ? ” 

^ They asked the shepherds from the north, but 
they had seen no such aninial ; the laborers from the 
south, but they had not heard her bell ; the peasant 
folk from the east, but they had not met her ; the 
garden women from the west, but they had heard 
no cow bell. 

One of the latter, however, an old woman 
said — ’ 

“ We met strangers on the highway— they must 


FRENCH STORY OF THE MOOR COW. 125 

have stolen her, ,and led her away by her drag 
rope.” 

Then the children began to cry afresh. The 
evening star now began to burn in the blue sky, and 
the children went home to report to their old father 
and mother that some one must have stolen their 
cow. 

The whole family now were greatly distressed, 
and they sat down to their bowls of milk, sorrow- 
fully, when a rap was heard at the door. 

“ Come in, in God’s name, come in.” 

The door opened, and a portly man stood there, 
with a face all beauty and beneficence. They had 
not often seen such a noble face, and did not know 
whether he was a man or a prophet. 

“ Have you seen a cow on your way? ” asked the 
old man. A black cow with five white spots on 
her head ? ” 

“No, my good man,” said the stranger. “ Have 
you lost a cow ? ” 

“We have lost our only cow — it is all that we 
have, and we are poor.” 

“ I am sorry, very sorry for you,” said the stran- 
ger. “ I can see what the cow must be to you. 
And wifiter is coming, and the Nord is cold. I do 
feel for you. I have a little money in my purse. 
I will give you some francs to buy another cow, or 
rather I will send you some from the palace.” 

“ From the palace ! ” said the old woman, raising 
her hands, “ are you the bishop ? ” 

“ Yes, good woman. I am the archbishop of Cam- 


126 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


brai. I have been to visit some good people who 
needed comfort and help, and I am walking home. 
It is good for me to walk home.” 

The archiepiscopal palace where the bishop lived 
was miles away in the city of Cambrai. 

The bishop was Fenelon, the saintly, the famous 
writer, who had once been the court teacher of the 
young Duke of Burgundy, afterwards Louis XV. 
He had lived amid the splendors of the court as a 
simple man, he had sought to instruct the heir to 
the throne in the lessons that all men are equal be- 
fore God, that nothing lives but righteousness, and 
conscience is all, and crowns were golden dust. 

“ I will send help to you,” he continued. “ You 
shall have another cow.” 

“ But that would not be our cow,” said one of the 
children. “ She knew us. She would never have 
run away.” 

“You can buy another one as good,” said the 
prince bishop. 

“ There never was a mooly cow as good as ours,” 
said the youngest child who threw his arms across 
his eyes. 

“ Do not talk in that way, children,” said the good 
woman. “ It is ungrateful. The bishop has a good 
heart. Are you really the bishop or a good spirit 
in the bishop’s form that the Virgin has sent to 
comfort us? ” 

“ I am the true bishop,” said .the stranger. “ I 
called to procure a bowl of milk, for the way is yet 
lortg and hard.” 


FRENCH STORY OF THE MOOR COW. 127 

The good woman set before him a bowl of milk, 
and some bread. The children continued crying 
while he ate. 

Then he gathered up his cloak, and planted his 
staff on the ground and gave the family his bless- 
ing, and went out into the starlight, with his lan- 
tern. 

He traveled loQg, when he heard the tinkle of a 
cow bell. He was in a hurry to get back to the 
palace where the pe6ple were waiting for him, but 
he thought of the distress of the little children, 
and his conscience began to pull him, and he fol- 
lowed the sound of the bell, and found a cow whose 
rope had become entangled in some strong roots. 

He lifted his lantern. 

The cow was black and had five white spots on 
her head. He disentangled the rope and set her 
free. 

Should he lead her home? 

The wind was cold. Afar gleamed the warm 
lights in the towers of Cambrai, and the archiepis- 
copal palace was warm and had smoking ovens 
there waiting his return. 

The thought of the children, and his conscience 
pulled again. So he took up the rope and, weary 
and hungry as he was, he led the cow back to the 
cottage on the moor. 

The children heard the bell and came running out 
to meet him. The old woman came to the door. 

“Ah, you cannot mislead, me,” said the woman. 
“ You are no archbishop. You are a prophet — 


128 THE BORDEN'rOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

you are an angel sent ; if we were to follow you 
back to Cambrai you would vanish by the way.” 

“ No, my good woman, I am simply the bishop. 
I am so tired now that I will have to pass the 
night here.” 

“ And you are welcome,” said the old man. 
“ Children, one of you go call the neighbors, and 
one of you milk the cow.” 

They gave the bishop some new milk, but the 
old woman shook her head, and said to her 
children, 

“ Watch him. If you keep your eye on him he 
will stay, but if you lose sight of him he will vanish 
away.” 

The neighbors came running, and with them a 
cure who knew the bishop. 

“ I wish I could get back to Cambrai to-night,” 
said the bishop. “ My people will be troubled about 
me, and I do not like to be a cause of trouble to 
any one. Have you no horse ? ” 

They had no horse. 

“You do not need any h^rse,” said the old wo- 
man, “you can fly.” 

“You do not need any horse,” said the cur^, 

“ we will carry you back.” 

“ But how — I am a heavy man.” 

“We will make a chair with our hands,” said the 
cur6. 

The men and women made a chair with their 
hands. But the good bishop declined riding in that 
way. 


FRENCH STORY OF THE MOOR COW. 129 

Then they made a chair of the poles of the hop 
vines, and the good bishop sat down thereon, and 
the people shouted and sung, and went out into the 
night, bearing him away. 

“ And you will never carry him to the palace,” 
said the old woman. “ If you lose sight of him on 
the way he will be gone — he will be gone. The 
bishop himself will meet you at the door. He is 
no bishop — he is an angel of the Lord.” 

The great moon rose over the moor. They 
reached the palace at the midnight hour. But no 
bishop came to meet them at the door. The bishop 
they had brought home was the true bishop, and 
his friends were awaiting in great anxiety. 

The good people returned home. 

“And was he the true bishop?” asked the old 
woman. 

The people all exclaimed — “ He was the bishop.” 

“ Ah,” said the old woman, “ that he was, but he 
was also the angel of the Lord. If there were many 
such as he, the Kingdom of God would come.” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

LITTLE LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 

Dame Toogood was very much surprised. 

Why ? It was at a suggestion made by Pierre. 

Dame Toogood had been so much helped in her 
school by the attendance of Flossie there, and had 
been so softened in heart by the “ reward of merit,” 
that she sought Pierre Falaise to help her to orga- 
nize a better primary school on the coming term. 
She asked him to make some new plans to follow 
the educational walks in the park in the early 
autumn, a kind of out-of-door education that he 
himself had suggested. 

He consented to begin some story-telling in- 
structions after the P'roebel method in the school 
room. 

Froebel,” said the good dame, “ and who was 
this Froebel ? You are constantly referring to 
him.” 

“ I will tell you about him,” said Pierre, “ in one 
of my talks. It was one of Froebel’s principles,” 
he added, that we learn by doing, and that chil- 
dren govern themselves as long as they are creat- 
ing good or making what is useful. Now I would 
130 


LITTLE LADY LUCY^S NEW GOWN. 13 1 

have my school, were I you, Dame Toogood, create 
something.” 

'‘You would, Mr. Falaise. What? The world 
seems to be all furnished now.” 

“ Not quite. The creative power in the child is 
its happiest faculty. In creating what is good for 
others, the child’s own character is created through 
habit.” 

“ But what is there that needs to be done, that 
my little children could do ? ’* 

“ You might create a gown.” 

“A gown, gown— who for, Pierre Falaise?” 

“ For Little Lady Lucy, the berry-picker. She 
has none too many gowns in my opinion.” 

Dame Toogood looked very much surprised. 

“ None too many. She hasn’t but one good 
go-wn to my certain knowledge, and that has been 
made over. She takes a breadth out of that some- 
times to make an apron of, and puts it back, again. 
But what made you think of her ?” 

“ She is going to be introduced to Lafayette. 
That is the plan. Now it would make all of your 
little childr^ perfectly happy to make a gown for 
Little Lady Lucy to wear at the reception of Lafa- 
yette.” 

“Bless your good heart, Pierre Falaise, so it 
would ; and she has been so good to the sick all 
these years. Going out to watching nights where 
nobody else would want to go, and holding meet- 
ings with the women at the poor-house, and mend- 
ing the legs of sheep, and cats and dogs, and car- 


132 THE BORDEN TOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

ing for broken-winged birds — I think that she has a 
a kind of kindergarten principle born in her, don’t 
you r 

“Yes — and the kindergarten principle is a thing 
that is better born than made.” 

“ Well, well, Pierre, I have been troubled how to 
govern my school this coming fall — I will have some 
very restless children, and Flossie has made my 
correction rod wither, and become limp and lose its 
power. But it would make all the children one 
in heart to make a gown for Lady Lucy to wear 
at the reception of Lafayette. How can it be 
done ? ”, 

“ In the first place let it be a secret among the 
children. It does a child good to keep a good 
secret. You will first have to collect money for 
the cloth for the gown ; then the gown will have 
to be made ; then you will have to present it to 
Little Lady Lucy. Let the children collect the 
money.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, I see. I will call the children 
together and tell them the plan as a secret.” 

Flossie was present at this interview. 

“ I will give you all the money that I receive at 
Benji’s store for my berries towards the gown.” 

“ And I will take the dried berries that I picked 
and sell them to Benji, and give what I get for them 
towards the gown,” said Dame Toogood. My new 
sight says that it would be great education to train 
children to do a thing like that. It would keep them 
happy, and make them grow happy ! ” 


LITTLE LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 133 


“That was Froebel’s idea,” said Pierre. “You 
are, as I see, grasping the true idea of education. 
You are a kindergartener, but don’t know it.” 

Dame Toogood looked very happy at the compli- 
ment. 

While they were talking over Little Lady Lucy’s 
new gown, a coach stopped in front of the door, and 
the Princess Zenaide from Point Breeze stepped 
from it, and called on Pierre about some new adorn- 
ment of the park. 

They told the Princess their plan. 

“ That is a good .thought,” she said. “ I would 
give you the money for Little Lady Lucy’s gown 
at once, but that- would do your children no good. 
It is what they will give and sacrifice to give, not 
what I might give that would teach them true 
life. But you get the gown, and I will give her 
other things to go with the gown, a lace cap, per- 
haps, or gold beads, and we will present her to La- 
fayette as the widow of a hero, which he was. 
Did not her husband, the old guard, leave the prints 
of his half-clad feet on the snows of the (Delaware) — 
red prints, blood prints on the white snow? Was 
not he a hero ? Is not she the wife of a hero, and 
then I have heard that she remembers everybody 
that other people forget.” 

Flossie was so happy that she began to dance 
about the room. 

Dame Toogood was eager to spread the secret. 
Soon there was a new happiness in the faces of 
the little children of Bordentown— there was but 


134 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

one thought now in the children’s hearts ; it was to 
create a gown for Little Lady Lucy to wear at the 
reception of Lafayette. 

Pierre began his story-telling as he promised in 
the school. His first story was one that was in har- 
mony with the thought of the neighborhood at the 
time. It was repeated by the children^ in their 
homes, and it caused needles to fly cheerfully. It 
led the people to feel that all life is a loom— that 
our future happiness springs from our own hearts 
It was a strange story. 

The King who Made a Garden out of his Own 
Heart. 

“ It makes one happy to hope for things,” said 
Pierre. “ We lose many things in the winning, but 
the, soul is always happy when it has good prospects. 
The way to be contented in the present is to be 
making good things to happen. Christ taught that 
if we were to be as interested in preparing for the 
soul good things to come, as worldly people were to 
provide comforts for coming years, that those whom 
we made happy here would ‘ receive us into ever- 
lasting habitations.’ ” 

“ Is that what that parable means ? ” asked Lady 
Lucy. “ I never so understood it before.” 

“ Those we help here will help us there,” said 
Pierre, ” when we fail.” 

“ It is good always to live in the anticipation of 
happiness,” he continued. “ Let me tell you a 
tale.” — 


LITTLE LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 135 

There was once a man who saw only what was 
good in everything ; so he always prophesied good. 
His name was Happy Prospects. 

He lived in the east, beside the blue Mediter- 
ranean under the Syrian sun, and loved his master 
so well, and served him so well, that the latter said 
to him one day — “ I am going to give you a ship, 
and you shall trade at the ports of the sea and be- 
come rich.” 

“You are very good,” said Happy Prospects. 
“ No one could really become rich unless he was so 
in soul, for it is only the gold of good doing that 
lasts. You will always be rich.” 

So Happy Prospects received his ship, and 
traded at sea, but he ventured out into unknown 
seas and the ship was caught in a great and terrible 
storm, and was wrecked near a sandy island, and all 
on board were drowned but he. Happy Prospects 
floated to the island by keeping his head above the 
stormy water, expecting that in some way he would 
have succor. So it was. His rescue was his one. 
hope which he kept bright in his soul. 

He found himself alone and forlorn on the sands 
of the strand of the island. He rose up and looked 
hither and thither. Everywhere seemed to be water 
and sand. He looked again, hope glowing in his 
eye. Far away over the island, he saw the last 
shadows of the cloud departing, and on the fringes 
of the flying cloud was the fragment of a rainbow, 
and under the rainbow were the tops of golden 
domes and glittering spires. 


136 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ A city must be there,” he said. “ I will go there.” 

He hurried over the sands of the desert. 

I have lost my ship,” he said. “ But there is a 
rainbow on the cloud when the sun shines.” 

As he hurried on the golden domes brightened 
and the city became clearer. He heard the bells ring- 
ing there. 

His feet flew on, for it was near sundown, when 
a strange sight met his eyes. The gates of the city 
swung open and out of it came a chariot, followed 
by heralds blowing silver trumpets, and by a great 
retinue of people, bearing banners and green palms. 
And the bells all rung. 

The charioteer and the procession approached 
him. They seemed to have seen him coming, to be 
expecting him. The chariot was canopied with silk 
and gold and was empty. 

As the horses curved by him, tossing their 
plumed heads, the people all shouted — 

‘‘The king! the king ! ” 

Then the chariot stopped and the trumpets 
sounded, and the people waved their banners and 
palms, and the charioteer got down from his high 
seat, and waved his hands to the poor mariner, and 
said — 

“ The chariot waits you, ascend.” 

“ The king! the king — welcome to the king! ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said the man. “ I am not 
a king. I am only a poor, shipwrecked mariner.” 

“ The chariot awaits you, ascend ! ” said the 
charioteer, 


LITTLE LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 137 


The bewildered mariner knew not what to do. 
The door of the chariot stood open, and he mounted 
the steps, and was driven away, the people all 
shouting, “ welcome the king ! 

And now the city gleamed before him, the 
golden domes gleaming in the pure light of the sun- 
set. It was a place of palaces and palm gardens, and 
a marble senate-house was there, on whose glisten- 
ing steps stood a senator in robes of white and silver. 

As the chariot entered the gates the bells all 
rang, and the people thronged the streets in festal 
robes and shouted— 

“ The -king ! the king ! welcome the king ! 

The chariot stopped before the steps of the 
senate-house in a garden of fountains and palms. 
The mariner alighted, more bewildered than ever, as 
the senators shouted— 

Hail, hail the king ! ” 

He was led to the senate-chamber — whose roofs 
gleamed with gold and silver stars. 

He bowed and said — 

“ O Lords, I am not a king. I am only Happy 
Prospects, a poor, shipwrecked sailor.” 

“ But you are our king,” said the president of the 
senate, in robes of gold, and the senators all bowed 
in their robes of silver, and the people waved their 
banners and palms. 

“ No, no,” said the perplexed mariner. I was 
never a king. I am an old servant, one Happy Pros- 
pects. I was sent to trade at sea and told I might 
have whatever I found.” 


138 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

“You were sent by the Allotter to be our king,” 
said the president. “ The Divine Allotter sends us 
a new king every year. He does not know for what 
he is sent. We know.” 

The mariner was greatly surprised at these 
words. 

“ But what becomes of the former king? ” 

“The Mystical Boatman comes for him at the end 
of the three hundred and sixty-five days and takes 
him away to the Unseen Island beyond the mist.” 

“ Is he willing to go ? ” 

“ No, no — he has to go ! ” 

“ And one by one the days slip away from him, 
first three hundred and sixty-four remain.” 

“ Ay, three hundred and sixty-four.” 

“Then, three hundred and sixty-three.” 

“Ay, three hundred and sixty-three.” 

“ And then three hundred.” 

“ Ay, three hundred.” 

“ And at last only seven.” 

“ Only seven ! ” 

“ What does he do then ? ” 

“ He spends his nights in banquets with his 
friends, seeing his days are so few.” 

“ And at last he has only two days. What does 
he do then ? ” 

“ He does not sleep then — time is too precious. 
He feasts with his friends ! He is loath to. go.” 

I will not be a king like that. Have you no 
poor people without homes?” 

“ Yes, O king ! ” 


LITTLE LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 139 

‘T will prepare homes for them on the Island 
Unseen.” 

“ Have you no sufferers here? ” 

“ Yes, O king ! ” 

I will send them to be treated on the Island 
Unseen.” 

“ Have you no rich people with restless hearts ? ” 

“ Yes, O king ! ” 

I will send them there to find contentment. 
Send to me the ferryman.” 

“ He made the ferryman his prime minister, and 
said : 

“ Have the Island Unseen planted with gardens 
and palms. Erect new fountains there, and seats 
amid blooming flowers and singing birds. I will be- 
gin to-day to prepare the way for my going.” 

And the king put on royal robes and was happy. 

Call him King Happy Prospects,” he said. 

They called him so. 

The first day passed, and he had made many 
poor people happy by telling them that he had 
ordered homes to be made for them on the Island 
Unseen. He helped the poor, the suffering and 
the unhappy, and the mystic ferryman carried them 
away beyond the mist to meet the king when he 
should come after his three hundred and sixty-five 
days were all done. 

The days passed. Each day that passed made 
the new king more happy. He sent people daily 
who were in need to the new gardens of palaces and 
palms on the island beyond the mist. 


140 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


They were happy to go, because the good king 
was coming to live with them. He was very happy 
to have them go, because he was to follow them ! 

One hundred days passed and the king’s happi- 
ness grew. 

Two hundred days passed, and he was happier 
yet. 

Three hundred days passed. 

“There are but sixty-five days more,” he said. 
“ I begin to long to go to the hearts that truly love 
me.” 

Seven days at last remained. 

He went down to the shore daily, and looked 
away towards the mist. 

“ King Happy Prospects,” said the people, “ there 
was never a reign like yours. In making the suf- 
fering people happy, you have made us all happy. 
Must you go ? ” 

“ It is so allotted,” said King Happy Prospects, 
“ and I will be glad to leave my crown to another. 

I love to think of those who have carried me in their 
hearts to the palm gardens beyond the mist.” 

The time came for him to go, and the ferryman 
beckoned to him from the sea. 

“ This is the happiest day of all my life,” said the 
king, and he entered the boat with the ferryman. 

Then all the people wept, half of them for sor- 
row that he was going away, and half for joy that 
he was going to be so happy beyond the mist. 

The ferryman rowed through the mist and be- 
yond. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 141 

The Island Unknown began to appear — palaces 
began to shine in the air, palms to wave and 
beckon. 

The shores were lined with people who were 
waiting to welcome their king. They were those 
whom he had befriended, and whose wants he had 
anticipated and relieved. 

The ferryman approached the company that 
stood on the shore. 

There went up a shout. “The king! the king! 
Welcome the king!” 

Then the ferryman peaked his oars, and rose up 
and said. 

“ Thou hast been faithful to the Divine Allotter, 
O king, live forever ! ” 

“ The people heard the words and shouted : 

“Oh, king, live forever! Here is the eternal 
garden thou hast made out of thy heart.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


KNIT, KNIT, KNIT. 

How were the children of the good dame’s school 
to, earn the money to buy Little Lady Lucy a new 
gown in which to meet Lafayette ? 

Dame Toogood considered many plans. She 
thought of asking them to braid straw, to braid 
mats at husking time, to make a rag carpet, but all 
of these had some disadvantage — none of the work 
could be done in the schoolroom under her eye. 

Dame Toogood was a wonderful knitter. She 
used to knit in school time ; how her needles 
would fly ! She knit stockings and mittens and 
hoods which she sold at Benji’s store, and “ com- 
forters^’ of all the colors of the rainbow. Her 
needles would fly like magic when she put her mind 
into her work, and they would catch the light, and 
gleam like silver, which the children thought was 
very curious. 

Now good thick woolen stockings and mittens 
found a ready sale at Benji’s store, for Bellemere 
could trade them off at the great stores in Phila- 
delphia, to which he went daily. 

Dame Toogood was an artist at knitting. She 
knew how to use different colored yarns so as to 
142 


KNIT, KNIT, KNIT. 


143 


produce very handsome work. She dyed her yarns 
herself, and had become an expert in the use of dye 
stuffs. 

One day, as she met Pierre Falaise again, she said, 

“ Do they teach the children to do any useful 
work in your Swiss school?” 

“Yes, we teach the girls to knit and to sew, and 
do it in a way that teaches them form, color, a care- 
ful hand, and beauty. Knitting can be made an 
educational art.” 

“You don’t say,” said Dame Toogood. “Did 
you never see my comforters and hoods and mittens ? 
I make them real pretty now — so handsome, that 
they stop the people at the store windows. Don’t 
you think it would be a good thing for me to teach 
the children how to knit such things? We could 
sell them at Benji’s, or could get him to trade them 
off for us in Philadelphy, and so get the money to 
buy Lady Lucy’s dress. I would show the children 
how I dye my yarns, and how to combine colors 
so as to please the eye. Why, I make a regular 
flower-garden of the things I knit. Perhaps I could 
sell some of the things we make at the hall.” 

“To the Princess,” said Pierre. I will ask her 
about it.” 

A few days later Dame Toogood was picking wild 
grapes by the way, when the carriage of the Princess 
was seen whirling down under the shadows of 
the forest leaves. The dame stopped in her work, 
when the coachman stopped the horses. 

“ Dame Toogood,” said the Princess, “ I hear that 


144 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

you are to teach your children to knit and to do 
beautiful work. I have never seen any knitting 
work as beautiful as yours in this country. That 
is a sight training for children — it will teach them to 
do useful work in a beautiful way. Bring your 
articles to the hall ; I think I would like to purchase 
all of them, some of them for myself, and some as 
Christmas presents for the work-people. You are 
to use the money for the articles, I hear, for Little 
Lady Lucy’s gown. I favor that plan ; for the chil- 
dren to earn a gown for that poor soldier’s widow is 
a lesson that they never will forget. I will pay you 
twice as much for your articles as you could get at 
the store or at Philadelphia.” 

Dame Toogood stepped out of the grape vines, 
all smiles and joy. 

‘‘These things all seem providential,” said she. 
“ It is Providence that opens our hearts to good 
intuitions.” 

“ It is Providence that follows good intuitions,” 
said the Princess. “ I am going to send the children 
of the hall to your school. You must get Pierre to 
help you teach, and to show you how Froebel 
taught. Pierre knew Froebel — the great Froebel.” 

The coach rolled on, covering with dust the fad- 
ing leaves of the grape vines. 

“ Who was the great Froebel ? ” asked the good 
dame to herself, “and who was that man whose 
name was all fermented with zz ? I’ll ask Pierre 
Falaise again some day, perhaps some pleasant Sat- 
urday when he takes the school to walk in the park.” 


KNIT, KNIT, KNIT. 


145 


So Dame Toogood got out her dye-pots. She- 
used cochineal, which was a wonder. She could 
“ set ” dye, which was a matter of skill. Some of 
the children who had sold berries, bought knitting 
needles at Benji’s store, and the good dame bought 
yarn there for their use, and colored the yarn in her 
own dye-pots. 

School opened well, and it had doubled in num- 
bers. The whole neighborhood seemed to have 
taken on a new happiness in the thought that the 
school was to earn a gown for Little Lady Lucy to 
wear at the reception of the great Lafayette, and 
that what the school was doing had the good will of 
the Princess and the hall. 

“ The anticipation of the happiness that what we do 
will give others is right heart education,” said Pierre 
to Dame Toogood. “That was one of FroebePs 
methods. It is a pleasure for the children to dream 
of the day when Little Lady Lucy shall wear her 
gown which so many thoughts have fashioned. It 
is not what we have — we lose many things in the 
winning — but it is the prospect of making some 
one happy that make the present contentment and 
the future bright. The heart is happy while it has 
the purpose of making some one happy in the future. 
This is the secret of happiness in life.” 

“You have told us a French story,” said one of 
the children to Pierre, on a Saturday afternoon ; 
“ now relate to us a German story.” 

“ I told you ' The Moor Cow.’ That story I like 
best of any tales I have heard in French. I will 
10 


146 The bordentown story-tellers. 


now tell you one of the German tales that I like of 
all the best. I will tell it in my own way, as I did 
*The Moor Cow,’ but I. follow the tale of Baron 
Fouqtie, who wrote the German Story of ' Undine.’ ” 

Red Mantle; Or The Giant That Became 
A Dwarf And What Happened After- 
ward. 

There was a man who was traveling hurriedly one 
afternoon through a dark German forest, when night 
overtook him. He could see that the sun was going 
down, for the far tree tops of the pines ceased to 
burn ; they were going out. 

He was a jewel merchant, and he carried his 
jewels in his portmanteau. It would have fared 
hard with him, had he been overtaken by robbers. 

It grew dark over head in the pines. A star 
shone down through an open space. He had hoped 
to reach a town miles away that night. But he was 
belated and uncertain of the way. 

He saw a light in the distance glimmering through 
the pines. He went towards it and found there a 
collier’s house. There was a kiln near. 

He rapped on the door. A middle-aged woman 
opened the door timidly, looked troubled, and 
asked — 

“ Stranger, what would you have ? ” 

“ I am belated. Give me a supper and bed, and 
I will pay you.” 

I fear that can never be — this house is not like 


KNIT, KNIT, KNIT. 


147 


other houses — why I cannot tell you. It is not in 
our hearts to deny travelers hospitality. Why it is 
so, is a sacred secret known only to ourselves — but 
it is best for strangers not to stop in this house over 
night.” 

I fear nothing,” said the traveler. ‘‘ Is your 
husband in?” 

“ Yes — but he would have to answer like me.” 

“ Send him to me, good woman.” 

A middle-aged man came to the door. 

“ I am sorry,” said he, “ but it would not be well 
for you to stop with us. I will take my lantern and 
go with you on your way.” 

“ No, my good friend, let me stop here. You are 
honest people, as I can see, and I am not afraid of 
any form pf superstition.” 

The jeweler pushed in, and sat down by the open 
fire. 

They spread a fable for him, and after the meal, 
the collier and his wife and little children all read 
the Scriptures, and then sung to the musical 
glasses — 

“Now the woods are all reposing, 

Take us, Father, to thy care ! ” 


The family then knelt down for prayer, and the 
jeweler knelt with them. 

As the collier was praying, a very strange thing 
happened. The weather-door opened and a little 
dwarf with burning eyes, and a red mantle, appeared. 
He stood in the door for a minute, cast an evil. 


148 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


withering look at the stranger, then went back into 
the dark, closing the door behind him. 

They rose from their knees, when the jeweler 
said — 

“ What was the red figure that I just saw in the 
door ? ” 

“ Ask me no questions,” said the collier. “ He 
will do you no harm if you heed my words. I will 
not be responsible, for you came here unbidden.” 

Your words are strange.” 

“ Ask me no more. I am about to lead you up 
the stairs to your chamber. If anything disturbs 
your room in the night, think no evil thoughts, 
speak no evil words, do no evil deeds, and no harm 
will come to you, and your rest will be as tranquil 
as the stars over the pines.” 

The collier led the merchant to his room. It was 
a chamber under the attic, with a single window. 
The moon had arisen, and gleamed in a sky of silver 
through the silent pine boughs into the little room. 

The collier left him, saying : 

Think no evil thoughts, speak no evil words, 
do no evil deeds, whatever may happen. You came 
here unbidden.” 

The merchant laid his portmanteau of jewels on 
the foot of his bed, so that his feet might touch it, 
when he should fall asleep. He put his pistol 
under his pillow, and laid down and thought of his 
merchandise and how he could best dispose of it. 

He was wakeful, but he was growing rich by his 
bargains in his wakeful dreams of fancy, when the 


149 


KNIT, KNIT, KNIT. 

door of his chamber began to tremble and move to 
and fro, and a red light mingled with the moon- 
light. 

He started, raised his head, and saw a little red 
figure in the open door, the same as he had seen 
during the prayer in the room below. 

It was a dwarf. He had little eyes that burned. 
He came towards the bed softly, his feet pattering 
upon the floor. 

The jeweler stretched his feet under the port- 
manteau, felt for his pistol, and waited to see what 
the dwarf would do. 

The room turned red. The dwarf began to feel 
the clothes at the foot of the bed. Presently he 
touched the portmanteau. 

The traveler began to grow very angry. What 
had this creature come here for to disturb his slum- 
bers? Was he a robber? Such an intruder ought 
to be punished. 

His anger kindled. Next arose thoughts of re- 
venge, then of murder. 

The red dwarf now began to pull the straps of the 
portmanteau, and to feel of the buckles. 

The traveler’s rage grew hotter and hotter, until 
he could endure silence no longer. He was being 
insulted. 

“ Avaunt, thou imp ! ’’ he cried. He then uttered 
a terrible oath, then a hot and revengeful fall of 
oaths, which we may not repeat. 

At the first oath, the dwarf began to grow, at the 
oaths that followed he rose into the air, and became 


ISO THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

such an awful giant with blazing eyes, that the trav- 
eler began to fear. 

*' I will kill you,” he said. He pressed his pistol, 
and a report shook the house. 

The red giant fled down the stairs, bending him- 
self double as he went. He shrieked. 

Immediately the collier and his wife came running 
up the stairs, full of distress. 

“ What have you done to our house spirit ? ” he 
asked. 

The woman wrung her hands, and said — 

“ Ah-a-me! Ah-a-me ! Now we will have to live 
all those years over again.” 

“ House spirit? ” said the merchant. “ You have 
insulted me ! ” 

“You came unbidden, and I warned you,” said 
the collier, and the woman wrung her hands and 
said, “ Ah-a-me ! Ah-a-me ! ” 

“ What do you mean by a house spirit ? ” asked 
the merchant. 

“ O stranger, you should not ask me to disclose 
the secret of our life. But I must tell you all now.” 

The woman stood trembling with a candle in her 
hand as the collier said — 

“ We came to live here because our lives were 
haunted by a temptation, which took the form of 
an evil spirit. The spirit was a giant. The old 
minister said that we could live him down, and that 
he would disappear, and if we overcame him our 
lives would be made the stronger and better for the 
struggle. He said, ‘Think no evil thoughts, speak 


KNIT, KNIT, KNIT. 


no evil words, do no evil deeds, and he will become 
smaller and smaller, and become a memory, and 
your lives will become nobler for the struggles.’ 

“ Ten years we have been living as the old pastor 
directed us, and we had lived down the red giant to 
a harmless little dwarf. We were expecting him to 
vanish away.’’ 

“ Now we will have to live all the years over 
again,” repeated the woman. “ Ah-a-me ! Ah-a- 
me ! ” 


Ten years passed. The jewel merchant passed 
over the same forest way again. Night overtook 
him. He saw a light in the same place as before, 
and went to the door and rapped. 

It was an old man that now came to the door. 
An old woman followed him. He recognized them, 
but they did not recall him. 

“ Welcome, stranger,” said the old man. “ What 
would you have?” 

“ Hospitality.” 

“We are not forgetful to entertain strangers 
now'' said the old man. 

The traveler entered. The prayer hour came. 
The collier led the hymn to the musical glasses — 

“ Now the woods are all reposing, 

Take us, Father, to thy care ! ” 

Then he knelt down to pray. The traveler knelt 
with the family with his eye on the door. But the 
door did not tremble, nor open. In the midst of 


IS2 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

the prayer, a bright light began to glow and to grow 
over their heads. It was very beautiful. It changed. 
The traveler watched it, as he would a star. It 
changed more and more, and became the face of an 
angel. The family had lived down the evil that 
had haunted their life, and had changed it into an 
angel. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ ; OR, THE BOY WHO 
FOUND LAFAYETTE. 

Pierre’s stories at the dame’s school and at the 
Parable Sunday-school, were repeated in the neigh- 
borhoods along the Delaware. 

One day as he came to visit the school, he found 
that his stories had awakened an interest in an 
unusual way. 

A pupil raised her hand. 

“ What is it, little girl ? ” asked the dame. 

“ May I ask a question of Mr. Falaise?” 

“ Yes, if it be a proper one.” 

“ Mr. Falaise ? ” 

“ Well, I am glad to hear you.” 

“ You told us a Swiss story — ‘ Froebel’s Lily.' ” 

“ Yes, my child.” 

‘^And a French story — ‘The Moor Cow.’” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“ And a German story — ‘ The Giant who grew 
down.’ ” 

“ Yes, yes, yes.” 

“ Will you not tell us the best story of a little 
American that you ever read ? ” 


153 


154 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

The dame’s cap border bobbed. 

“ There, said she to Pierre, in a provincial 
phrase, “ that’s for you.” 

“ I will do so when I come again,” said Pierre. 
“ I am glad to be asked the question ; I like the 
spirit of it. My little story lover, I thank you.” 
This was Pierre’s story : 


American Story of the Prisoner of Olmutz. 

The story which I am about to tell you is sub- 
stantially true, although it may sound to you like 
fiction. 

When Lafayette first landed in America on the 
shore of the Carolinas, he and Baron de Kalb knelt 
down on the sand, and consecrated their swords to 
American Liberty. 

It was a summer night. The two looked for a 
shelter, and they saw a light in a plantation house 
at a little distance. They went there, and found 
that the house was occupied by a rich patriot by the 
name of Huger (Huzhy). They were welcomed 
there. 

The next morning Lafayette met in the house a 
little boy. He was fond of children, and this child 
was immediately attracted to him, and was enfolded 
in his arms. 

The two became friends. 

Lafayette rode away to the camp of Washington 
at Philadelphia, nine hundred miles distant, but he 
carried with him the love of the South Carolina 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. 


155 

patriot s little son. The boy’s name was Francis 
Kinlock Huger. His heart followed that of the 
young Frenchman, and as he grew older he heard 
with delight of his deeds of fame. 

“ He once held me in his arms,” he must have 
said of Lafayette proudly as he heard how that the 
Marquis had secured for America the aid of France, 
and had led the victories that brought about the 
great victory ofYorktown. 

He longed for an opportunity to express to La- 
fayette the love and admiration that he felt for 
him. But such an opportunity did not seem likely 
to come. The boy was one of those who would die 
for one he loved. He was of French Huguenot 
blood, and gloried in the spirit of the French patriots 
in the days of liberty. 

After the rise of the Jacobins in France, Lafayette 
was compelled to flee to the continent, and he was 
there arrested, and secretly imprisoned. The place 
• of his imprisonment was a state secret. 

It was a mid-autumn day, in 1794, when a way- 
worn traveler entered the Prussian town of Tarno- 
witz, near the Russian border on the east, and the 
Austrian border on the west. He was a lonely 
mysterious man. He traveled alone, with an absent 
look in his face, as if intent on some unusual purpose. 
He was a doctor, and bore with him the credentials 
of his profession. His name was Erick Bollman. 

He was a student of life, and shunned society. 
In his medical studies he had become interested in 
a subject of absorbing interest — the influence of 


156 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. . 


mental and moral states of mind on the rise, progress, 
and termination of disease. The experiments which 
he made to illustrate the power of the mind over 
the body had often withdrawn his heart from the 
world and from society. He had seized the idea 
that the conscience could be directed in such a way 
as to prove a powerful agent in the healing of a 
disease, and, if this were so, he desired to inaugurate 
a science that would be of great service in relieving 
the sufferings of mankind. 

Dr. Bollman was an enthusiast, but he loved all 
men. He pitied humanity in its blindness, igno- 
rance and helplessness. He loved liberty, and he 
hailed the independence of the States of America 
as the appearance of a new divinity among the na- 
tions of the world. He had found a friend in London 
with alike nature, who had inspired him. 

The hero of his heart was Washington, and, after 
that leader, Lafayette. 

This remarkable man came to the old inn at 
Tarnowitz, and secured there a faded room. 

He threw himself on his bed, for he was weary 
after his long journey, and sent for the physician of 
the place, whom he knew by reputation, and who 
had heard of him as a patriot and as a leader of 
republican thought, at the capital. 

It was the red twilight in the harvest time. 

The physician was an old man, short and stout, 
and he came hobbling up the stairs in the fading 
light. He sat down, out of breath, and, puffing, 
said abruptly — 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. 157 

Dr Bollman, what brings you here ? Something 
extraordinary, it must be. You are fixing your 
mind on some scheme,— I know that kind of look,— 
I can see it in your face now.” 

He drew in his cheeks, and settled back in his 
chair for an answer. 

He covered his eyes with his hand, and said : 

“ Doctor, the hiding-place of Lafayette is the 
state secret of Europe. I have never seen George 
Washington, the commoner of the western world, 
but his heart has touched mine. I am willing to 
give up all my advantages in life to discover the 
secret of Lafayette’s place of imprisonment, and 
that discovery I shall make. To Lafayette I am the 
friend unseen. The letters of Washington to the 
American ministers at the courts of Europe are like 
finger points. Washington’s efforts touclrmy soul.” 

He paused, and then spoke in a tone of mystery: 

‘‘ Doctor, listen ; there are still prisoners at 
Olmutz.” 

“ And they are guarded well : the castle of Olmutz 
was a religious house before it grew into a fortress. 
Did you ever see it ? It looms up with the strength 
of centifries. Do you know how powerful that 
fortress is ? ” 

“ Tell me what you know of the castle.” 

“ It is near the frontier.” 

“ I well know that.” 

“ I see that you do, and I read your suspicion ; 
your face is all like a book to me. I can see your 
soul in your face, and read your voice, — I am a 


158 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

student of tones, and can read voices. Olmutz, — 
it is awful. The door is a vault. The cells are 
vaulted, dark, and damp and oyer them the lofty 
chambers shut out the sun. Olmutz is the desola- 
tion of hope, the darkness of darkness. Death 
lurks there in all those stone cells. When prisoners 
are sent there, it is to die. Olmutz ! I can see it in 
my mind’s eye ! ” 

“ Tell me more, doctor.” 

‘‘ Great walls surround the prison, and guard- 
houses, and sentries that pace to and fro, under the 
sentence of death if they fail in any duty. To and 
fro — to and fro — I see it all in my mind.” 

“ More ! ” 

“ The walls of the fortress are six feet thick. The 
windows are of iron. The doors are double ; they 
creak when moved. Olmutz is a prison of silence. 
You suspect that Lafayette may be confined in those 
dungeons. Doctor, I agree with you, for I have 
heard that the guard of the fortress has been doubled, 
so that the prison now is unapproachable. The 
commander, I hear, boasts that it would be beyond 
human power to learn any secret within the walls. 
Even the peasants turn back in the sunset, and look 
upon the lofty roofs with awe. The commander is 
right.” 

The traveler replied firmly : 

‘‘ The commander is wrong. The strongest and 
darkest fortress on earth cannot stay the silent 
purposes of the soul. ' There are eyes that ignore 
fortresses, and ears that listen at the double doors of 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. 


159 


cells. If Lafayette be in the dungeons of Olmutz, 
I shall discover the secret to the world, and hu- 
manity will unbolt those doors. The character 
of the American commoner, Washington, whom I 
silently serve, will open the door of the cell of Lafa- 
yette when that den is found ! ” 

He lifted himself on his couch, and held his arms 
in the air. 

“ Doctor, we are haunted by the wishes of the 
living. There is a soul in Washington’s letters to 
the American ministers at the courts that, as I 
have said, is calling to me, calling to me. There is 
a longing in the heart of Lafayette that is calling to 
me, calling to me. Doctor, listen ; hear me ye walls 
and dungeons of Olmutz, ye guards of the double 
doors, ye sentries of the vaulted chasm that leads 
out into the light, — I will discover the secret of the 
hiding of Lafayette, and will yet bring Washington 
and Lafayette again face to face.” 

Let us follow this man of mystery. 

Dr. Bollman went to the strange,mysterious, lonely 
city of Olmutz, where state prisoners were hidden in 
the silence of the dungeons that seemed, as it were, 
beyond the world. He entered the city of the lofty 
castle as a physician, bearing his credentials. He in- 
quired at once for the surgeon-general of the castle, 
and introduced himself to this man as a traveling 
physician of occult studies. 

Strange as it may seem, this doctor also was in- 
terested in the study of the higher powers of the 
soul. He welcomed Dr. Bollman to his medical 


i6o THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


rooms. The latter had become more and more con- 
vinced that Lafayette was one of the state prisoners 
of the castle. 

His instincts told him that it was so. The un- 
common caution and mystery with which, as he 
learned, certain prisoners were held and guarded, 
evinced daily that his instinct had told him the 
truth ; such voices had never deceived him. The 
great castle that darkened the air hid not its secret 
from him.' 

How should he approach the surgeon with the 
subject revealed to him by no human tongue? 

Before a purpose a way appears. 

He prepared a pamphlet which contained a mes- 
sage to Lafayette written in invisible ink. Why ? 

One day, as the two doctors were sitting together, 
— and the scene I am about to describe is very nearly 
historically true, — they began to discuss a subject 
which was then less understood than now, — the effect 
of thought in disease. 

Suddenly Dr Bollman changed the theme. 

“ Surgeon,” he said, “ while we are on this subject, 
I have a case m mind. You attend the state prison- 
ers here, do you not? Among them is the French 
general, Lafayette ? ” 

The name was like a voice from the air. The sur- 
geon sat silent for a moment, then said : 

“ As a rule, I do not speak the names of state 
prisoners, except to the proper authorities.” 

Dr. Bollman continued : 

“ His health is much impaired. We have been 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. j6i 

speaking of moral influences on states of health. I 
have a pamphlet here, the reading of which would 
do the French general good. It concerns his friends 
in London. To read it would do him more good 
than any medicine. Doctor, I wish you would give 
it to him, and say that a traveler from London left 
it with you. It contains, as you may see, informa- 
tion that his old English friends have not forgotten 
him. Such messages quicken the blood, and are the 
sources of new life.” 

The surgeon sat as one amazed. How did this 
* man know the truth that he had so confidently as- 
serted ? He knew not what to say, or how to reply. 
But he reached out his hand and took the pamphlet, 
when Dr. Bollman changed the subject of conversa- 
tion, and the two parted as friends who had a knowl- 
edge of the same secret. 

Dr. Bollman heard not the feet of the sentries that 
night in the castle, but he did not sleep. His soul 
was awake. The surgeon had become intensely in- 
terested in the new science and the doctor's illustra- 
tions. He was eager to follow the subject. He met 
Dr. Bollman again, and the night lamp was spent 
in further illustrations of spiritual power over 
matter. 

The mysterious scheme went on. Dr. Bollman 
prepared another paper, written over with invisible 
or sympathetic ink. He held it for an opportunity 
when the surgeon should be lost in thought, covered, 
as it were, with dreams raised by suggestion. 

It was a late hour in the castle. The air was 


i 62 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


silence, except the sound of the feet of the sentries, 
as they paced to and fro. The windows of the sur- 
geon’s office looked down on the river, and over the 
river was passing the reflected moon. 

The lamp burned low, and the surgeon seemed 
to be lost in thought. He tapped silently with 
his finger on the table as the light went down. Dr. 
Bollman sat in silence, not wishing to break the 
spell. His own thought was of Lafayette. 

Suddenly the surgeon started as one waking out 
of a dream. 

“ Oh,” said he, “ Lafayette ! ” 

What had he said ? 

He seemed startled at the sound of the word, then 
added : — 

“The French general desires to learn something 
more about one of his London friends named in the 
pamphlet.” 

Dr. Bollman closed his eyes to still a nervous 
tremor. Could it be possible that he had heard 
the surgeon-general of Olmutz pronounce that word 
“Lafayette?” Lafayette? The word had revealed 
to him the secret of Europe,— the greatest of the 
many state secrets of the Austrian court. 

“ I will write a brief note to the general,” said Dr. 
Bollman. He took pencil from his pocket and wrote 
a message on the paper which contained the thrilling 
information already written in the invisible ink. 

It was a marvelous note, indeed, which he handed 
back to the surgeon. How would Lafayette under- 
stand the purport of it, and read double ? In the 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. 


163 

open note was penned the following words, which 
are historical : — 

“ I am glad of the opportunity of addressing you 
these few words, which when you read with your usual 
warmth will afford your heart some consolation.” 

Lafayette understood the hint, ai}d his dreams 
were of the lifted latch. How it would come, he 
could not tell ; but he knew that it was in the heart 
of the great world to do it ; he knew that the 
steps of some angel of Providence were following 
him. 

It was a fearful experiment that Dr. Bollman had 
made at Olmutz. In order not to arouse suspicion, 
he went to Vienna, promising the surgeon to return 
and visit him again, when they would continue their 
interesting investigations. 

When alone in Vienna, he sought for the heart of 
a sympathetic friend. Such a one was in Vienna, 
awaiting the touch of a friendly hand. His name 
was Huger— Francis Kinlock Huger, an American 
student, the boy that Lafayette had clasped in his 
arms on the Carolina shore. 

In his gloomy inn, he sent for him, as he had 
done for the old doctor in the distant Prussian town. 
He sat down and waited for this American, in the 
same mood that held him at Tarnowitz and at Ol- 
mutz. He was weaving events. 

There was a knock at the door, and the latch was 
lifted. The conversation which followed seems more 
a fanciful incident of the age of genii, than of real life. 

My American friend, you have heard of the im- 


i 64 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


prisonment of Lafayette. You have known this 
man who rendered great services to your country.” 

“ Sir,” said the young student, “ I should know 
him, — he took me on his knee when he first landed 
in America on the shores of the Carolinas. He and 
Baron De Kalb were there landed at night, near the 
plantation house of my father. They knelt down 
on the sands, and consecrated their swords to the 
cause of America. Then they saw a light in the 
distance and came to our house. We heard the 
dogs barking and opened the doors. The next 
morning, I was clasped in the arms of Lafayette. I 
was a boy then. He rode nine hundred miles to 
meet Washington, after he left our doors. I can 
seem to hear the dogs barking now.” 

He continued : “ I love Lafayette because France 
could not corrupt him. I fall in love with spirits 
like these, whom I have never seen, and may never 
see. I even love the heroic dead. My life is en- 
hanced by such affections. You venerate the char- 
acter of Lafayette, the knight of liberty ? ” 

“ More than that of any other man, save our own 
Washington.” 

“ My American student, what would you do for 
him now ? ” 

‘‘I would peril my life for him. The mystery of 
his imprisonment haunts me daily.” 

“ Did you know that Lafayette is imprisoned in 
the fortress of Olmutz?” 

His eyes gleamed as he looked the student in the 
face. 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. 165 

“In Olmutz? So near? We must rescue him.” 

The doctor went. again to Olmutz, and again car- 
ried on a correspondence with Lafayette in sympa- 
thetic ink through the surgeon. Lafayette wrote 
his replies in lime-juice, and informed Dr. Bollman 
that on certain days he was allowed to ride into the 
country. In one of these rides, the doctor deter- 
mined to rescue him. He sought the American 
student again. The two sought to rescue Lafayette, 
but were arrested and imprisoned, but they had 
found the place of the imprisonment of Lafayette, 
and revealed it to the world. 

It was 1797. Heavy feet were heard approaching 
the double door where Lafayette was imprisoned. 

The governor of the fortress stood there. The 
prisoner awaited his words. 

“ General Lafayette, by the order of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, with whom the emperor has concluded 
a treaty, all the P'rench prisoners in the castle of 
Olmutz are made free ! ” 

The prisoner thought of his wife, of his daughters, 
of the hearts of the Cincinnati in America, of his 
son at the house of Washington in the far west. 

He could not speak. Tears streamed from his 
eyes, and he sat there with tottering limbs. 

The governor spoke again : — 

“ General Lafayette, the emperor, in your case, 
has a distinct message. Your release has been 
brought about by the appeal to him by that great 
friend of mankind, whose name we utter in rever- 


ence. 


i66 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

He bowed, and said : — 

“ Washington ! ” 

There was a long silence. 

Lafayette repeated the name with uplifted eyes, — 

‘‘Washington, my friend. The friendships of 
patriots are true ! ” 

The guards took the irons from the feet of the 
prisoner, and unlocked his chains. 

He was led out to the great reception-room. His 
wife was there awaiting him j his daughters were 
there. 

Two strangers entered ; he had seen one of them 
but once before, and he had been told that they 
were dead. 

The governor spoke again : — 

“ Dr. Bollman, you have been a friend to Lafa- 
yette, and your example has inspired many. But 
the emperor is very gracious. He sets you free by 
his treaty with Napoleon, but it is the loving re- 
spect he has for W^ashington that gives you the 
freedom of Lafayette.’' 

The governor bowed and added : 

“ The emperor is very gracious.” 

“ Dr. Bollman,” said Lafayette, there are occa- 
sions that want words to express the heart. Dr. 
Bollman, you are the unseen friend in my misfor- 
tunes, your heart has been true to a patriot in 
distress. We are united in the love of Wash- 
ington. 

Francis Huger, the boy wLo touched my heart 
in the Carolinas, son of Columbia, of the land of 


THE PRISONER OF OLMUTZ. 167 

Washington, my poor words can only say that your 
heart is true ! ” 

The two approached each other, and were locked 
in each other’s arms again after nearly twenty 
years. 

This strange story is in substance true. 


i68 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER — A DIALOGUE, WITH 
TABLEAUX. 

The sixth of September came — the anniversary 
of the birthday of Lafayette. “ Pedagogue Brown 
of Bordentown ” had written a poem for the occa- 
sion, as he had promised, which he had arranged to 
deliver with musical effects. The literary exercises 
were to be held in the lake-house, over whose hos- 
pitable doors was inscribed the liberal motto — 

Not ignorant of evil, I know how to succor the 
uufortu7iater 

Pierre Falaise was to make the address, and 
Flossie was to speak a piece. 

The people had all dreamed of this festival at 
night, and the children had. prepared for it by day. 
The Princess had promised to be present, and Little 
Lady Lucy, in memory of her husband’s bleeding 
feet on the Schuylkill, which place she spoke of as 

the Delaware,” was to be an honored guest. 

It was a burning day in the changing year, a day 
of still sunshine. The “ locusts ” sang in the trees 
in the hazes of golden air. The forests were begin- 
ning to change, and the waters lay like mirrors. 

The children began to assemble early in the day, 
for the exercises were to be in the morning. Peda- 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. 


169 


gogue Brown came in knee-breeches and wig — thin 
and spare, with his poem written on parchment. 
Little Lady Lucy was seen crossing the lawn timidly 
on her cane, and was seated in an armed chair in the 
lake-house, in her one dress. She did not know 
that another dress fit for a princess was making for 
her. 

The assembly filled the hall-room of the lake- 
house of the benevolent legend. 

Pedagogue Brown’s poem was entitled La- 
Fayette’s Ride for Liberty. The ride was 
to be imitated in sound by the playing on a piano 
and violin of a Prussian cavalry song, called the 
“ Wild Hunt of Lutzow,” which is still a popular 
melody and band tune. 

The hall was hung with American and French 
flags blended together with festoons of laurel from 
the woods, and the stage bore the motto : ^'Nous 
vous aimons, Lafayette;' and the mysterious words : 
“ Auvergne sans tache!' 

The hall-room was filled, and the Princess came, 
wearing her beautiful pearls in honor of the occa- 
sion. The parents of the children of the two schools 
were there in their best clothes. The grenadier was 
there, and several veterans of the war from the towns 
along the Delaware. 

The story of Lafayette had been so clearly told 
in outline, that the new incidents were apprehended, 
even by the children. 

The children sung the song of welcome they were 
to sing in Philadelphia, on the “ fifty-acre lot.” 


170 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

Then Pedagogue Brown arose and delivered his 
poem, which pictured the historic ride of Lafayette 
from South Carolina to Philadelphia. 

He read the poem in a clear voice, and his soul 
seemed to enter into it, as did the hearts of the mu- 
sicians who imitated the horsemen. 

He had arranged for some quite dramatic effects 
during the reading of the poem, which represented 
a summer storm in the Alleghanies, and a flag rain- 
bow. He had assigned a part to be read by Pierre 
Falaise, who represented a French grenadier. 

We will give you the story, as the poem related 
it, in music, dialogue, and tableau, and directions. 

The musicians play the cavalry march, of Von 
Weber, called the “Wild Hunt of Lutzow.” A 
bugle sounds — 

LAFAYETTE’S RIDE FOR LIBERTY. 

I. 

Lafayette and Cavalier Side by Side : 

Lafayette — O Grenadier of old Auvergne, 

O Grenadier of Gatinais, 

The morn is up, the sunbeams burn, 

Rise, mount ; for Liberty away ! 

Thou who hast seen the heroes fall 
In reddened moat by tower and wall. 

Again the steed bestride ! 

For Liberty all glorious ride ! 

Advance ; the acorned woods are green. 

With summer leaves like oak demesne, 

The eagles gleam in air. 

Speed on : the mountain passes hail. 

And leap with rivers to the vale — 

As Tempe’s vale as fair. 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. 


171 


And as thou fliest, Grenadier, 

Send back, send back, thy words of cheer, 

Thy words of old Auvergne, — 

Shout, Grenadier ! 

The air is clear. 

For liberty all glorious press. 

Through clearing, town, or wilderness ! 

[The cavalier takes another position, with side turned to the 
audience, so as to seem to shout back to Lafayette and his compan- 
ions. The response, “ You are right, O Grenadier,” is to be made 
by the class in the seats, or on the platform with Lafayette.] 

II. 

Grenadier — When Freedom, at the world’s behest, 

(Ride fast, chasseurs, ride near !) 

Descended from the regions blest. 

Her dwelling was the soldier’s breast. 

Lafayette — You are right, my chevalier. 

You are right, old grenadier. — Loud pedal. 

Grenadier — To ride for Liberty who learn. 

Shall never know a fear ; 

And many go, but few return. 

When blow the bugles of Auvergne. 

Response by Class — You are right, old Grenadier. — Loud pedal. 

III. 

Grenadier — Whenever from Auvergnian sheath. 

The tempered sword is drawn. 

Then right is might, then life is death. 

Response by Class— Old Grenadier, go on ! [Bu^le.] 

IV. 

Grenadier — Auvergne sans tache ; her soldiers fall, 

A nobler life to gain ; 

There’s blood upon the castle vrall. 

There’s weeping in the ivied hall ; 

For many go, but few return. 

When blow the bugles of Auvergne, — 

Auvergne without a stain. 


172 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 


V. 

The son he rides the sire beside, 

The sire beside the son, 

But at the fall of eventide. 

Comes back again but one. 

The banners wave, the sabres flash. 

The hollow bugles blow. 

The sun goes down, the sire speeds on, 

“ My son is as another’s son, 

Press boldly on the foe ! ” 

So rides the soldier of Auvergne, 

So rides the chevalier : 

The many go, the few return. 

Response— You’re right, old Grenadier.— pedal. 

Grenadier — He rushes on the fated field, 

\yith purpose clear and high, 

Draws Valor’s sword, bears Honor’s shield. 
For right to live or die. 

He springs in flame, and what cares he 
One moment what the next will be .? 

Is this not so, O Cavalier 

Response— You’re right, you’re right, old Grenadier. 

VI. 

Grenadier — And when the sunny vineyards wake. 
With festal songs, they bear 
How many a name of noble fame 
Along the choral air ! 

A man defeated for the right. 

Is not defeated. — Hear ! 

He has not faltered in the fight ; 

His cause shall win, through Honor’s might. 

Response — You’re right, old Grenadier. 

Grenadier— Still, still, his soul goes on the march. 
Where none who fall are slain. 

The many go, the few return. 

When blow the bugles of Auvergne, 
Auvergne without a stain. 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. 


173 


VII. 

A sultry cloud is in the sky, 
The wind scarce stirs the fern, 
Afar the Alleghanies lie. 

And high their summits burn. 


[At this point let the March cease, and let there be an imitation 
of thunder on the piano or organ. A skilful musician can do this, 
after the manner of the music in Merkle’s “ Thunder Storm in the 
Alps.”] 


. VIII. 


The cloud now wider spreads its shade*, 

The mountain peaks are gone. 

The ring-dove flies on faltering wings. 

And loud the red rain-plover sings 

Amid the fields of corn. [ T/mnderi\ 

Up, up, the rocks on yonder height 
A mighty shelter form ! [Bugle.'] 

Up, — soon the hand of God will write 
The iris on the storm ! 

The lightning’s flash, the thunder’s crash, 
Have never checked the rein. 

When bore the banner of Sans Tache, 

The Soldier of Auvergne 

On toward the battle plain. [Thunder.] 
Up, — ride into some cavern, ride. 

There we shall sheltered be. 

As oaks upon the mountain’s side. 

As rocks w'ithin the sea ! 

The sky will soon be clear. 

The lightning’s flash, the thunder’s crash, 
Not long thy steps detain. 

When rides the banner of Sans Tache 
Down towards the battle plain. 

The sky will soon be clear. 

Up, up, around us sweeps the storm. 


IX. 


Grenadier — Comrades, be bold ; 

The fcloud is lifting from the vales, the rain 


174 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

Is passed ; look down ! look down ! 

O Lafayette, look up ! 

What see you there ? of red^ white, and blue 

streamers.] 

Lafayette — A rainbow, like the smile of God. 

Cavalier — The Iris of the West ! 

Afar beneath it the Potomac rolls. 

And over yonder village hangs a flag ; 

The rainbow brightens o’er us like an arch. 

This is America ! America ! America ! 

Lafayette — The camp of Washington 

Is yet three hundred miles away or more. 

The iris glo\vs and burns ; the omen hail ! 

This is our welcome to America ; 

Hail, hail, revealing heavens, there lies the field 
Of liberty ! behold ! 

Cavalier— I see, O Lafayette, I see. 

Beneath yon glowing bow that spans the sky, 

Let us ride down. [Bugle.] 

I. 

Lafayette — O Sunny France, whose hills arise 

O'er vineyards fair and fruited trees, . 

Thine are the splendors of the skies 
Arid gleaming glories of the seas. 

I love thy lakes, thy resinous woods, 

I love thy vales of odorous air. 

Thy vine-empurpled solitudes, 

O France, the beautiful and fair! 

II. 

But now my country is the earth. 

My countrymen are all jnankind. 

And szveet Auvergne, my place of birth, 

I do not longer seek to find ; 

My heart beats true to every heart ; 

My hand to every hand is free ; 

And, Liberty, where'er thou art. 

My life, my home and grave shall be ! 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. 


175 


The people were greatly enthused over this pic- 
ture in voice, music and tableau. The poem strongly 
suggested even to Lady Lucy the meaning of 
Auvergne satis tache'" 

“I think I see what it means now,” she said, 

but one cannot be sure— I hope I will hear Lafa- 
yette tell me that with his own lips. He will when 
I tell him what my husband did on the Delaware 
(Schuylkill).” 

The poem and music were followed by an address 
by Pierre Falaise. It was a Swiss form of an ad- 
dress — a story. 

Then the one-armed survivor of Valley Forge re- 
lated a story, and the French Grenadier cheered 
him — the Grenadier with the wooden leg. 

Stories of Lafayette. 

Said the veteran : 

It is character that is success, not the gaining of 
power, wealth, or social popularity. Wealth van- 
ishes, fame perishes, but that which is true lives 
eternal. 

This truth is brought into clear light in several 
episodes of the life of Lafayette. Lincoln declared 
that his faith was that “ right is might.” Lafayette 
held to the same view, and it was his pride to have 
his name associated with the regiment of French 
mountain heroes of Auvergne sans tache. 

That was a thrilling episode in the young gen- 
eral’s life. He was only about twenty years of age, 
when the cabal, or Board of War, under the influ- 


176 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

ence of General Gates, offered him the command of 
the Army of the North to be sent for the conquest of 
Canada. It was hoped, by those wishing to elevate 
Gates to the supreme command of the array, to 
make the young general disloyal to Washington. 
(“ Go on,” said the Grenadier.) 

The young French general had sacrificed money 
and fame for the American cause. How would he 
meet flattery ? He was to be invited to a banquet 
and his principles tried. 

He had been to banquets before where his loyalty 
to liberty had been tested. Young as he was, on 
such occasions he had put character above the 
allurements of wealth and fame. 

One night, when he was a mere boy officer, he 
had been summoned to a banquet at Metz. The 
English duke was to be there, the brother of the 
king, and was to bring great tidings that had come 
from America. The news that filled the banquet 
hall of the fortress that night was — “ Washington 
is in full retreat across the Jerseys, and the cause of 
the Americans is lost.” The announcement filled 
the hall with mirth. 

“ Washington,”— the name was new to him,— he 
only knew that that name stood for the cause of 
American liberty. He could not have dreamed that 
that name would *one day be coupled with his own. 

His heart was in that cause. The mirth was a 
mockery to him at this hour. He went out with a 
high resolution in his soul, and there, under the 
moon and stars, he resolved to consecrate his sword, 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. 


177 


and all that he had, to the cause of American 
liberty. A kind of vision seemed to come to him. 

“ When I first saw the face of America, I loved 
her,” he afterwards wrote to the American Con- 
gress. It came to him that night at the banquet 
at Metz. (“ Go on,'' said the Grenadier.) 

He had a fortune ; he would use part of it to take 
him to America. He had fame at the French 
Court ; he would lose his brilliant reputation there 
if he should go to America ; but he would go. He 
had a young and beautiful wife, whom he loved, and 
whom it would be hard to leave behind. But wealth, 
popularity and love should all be laid on the altar 
of American liberty. A voice in his soul com- 
manded him to go. 

One summer evening, in company with Baron de 
Kalb, the veteran soldier, the water drinker in the 
midst of intemperate associates, he was landed on 
the shores of the Carolinas. Baron de Kalb and he 
knelt down on the sands that night, and in the silent 
presence of God, consecrated their swords to the 
cause of American liberty. Hundreds of miles lay 
between them and the camp of Washington ; and 
over these they would begin on the morrow their 
ride for the cause of liberty for America and the 
world. The poem has pictured that ride. 

Washington served his country without pay, and 
laid down the sword when the cause had been won. 
Lafayette not only served the cause without com- 
pensation, but brought to it contributions from his 

own fortune. 

12 


178 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

(“ That was noble,'' said the Grenadier — “ Go on I ”) 

What was this banquet at York, to which he was 
to be invited, and where his character was to be 
put to a final test ? It was a product of that dark 
and awful period of the Revolution (1777-1778), 
the days of Valley Forge, when the tattered army 
made the snows red with the track of blood. 

Washington had become unpopular. Gates, the 
hero of Saratoga, was the rising star. Congress had 
created a Board of War, which aimed to overrule 
the supreme command of Washington and to give 
Gates as its president the place of influence. Gates 
was ambitious for himself ; he was dissatisfied with 
the conduct of the war, and was making the people 
dissatisfied. Washington was secretly criticised in 
Congress, and his wisdom, was questioned by those 
who looked for immediate results. His army was 
in rags, amid hunger and snows, and in the shadow 
of defeat. But the heart of Washington — that was 
true. Hear his words in those dark days : — 

“ My enemies take an ungenerous advantage of me. 
They know that I cannot combat their insinuations, 
however injurious, without disclosing secrets which 
it is of the utmost moment to conceal. But why 
should I expect to be exempt from censure, the 
unfailing lot of elevated station? My heart tells 
me that it has ever been my unremitted aim to do 
the best that circumstances would permit.” (In 
1778.)^ 

Again : — “ I prize as I ought the good opinion of 
my fellow citizens ; yet, if I know myself, I would 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. 


179 


not seek popularity at the expense of any social 
duty or moral virtue.” (1788.) 

These words merit a lettering of gold. (“You 
are right ! ” said the Grenadier.) 

Washington had come to love Lafayette. The 
young Frenchman was like a son to him. The 
latter was now about twenty-one years of age. 
Would this susceptible son of France be true to him 
at this dark hour, or would he favor the Board of 
War? 

The plan of the Board of War was to assemble at 
York, summon Lafayette to the banquet, and there 
offer him the command of the Army of the North, 
in a dramatic way, that would signify that great 
honors should be assigned to him in return for his 
loyalty to them rather than to Washington. 

Washington, though commander-in-chief of the 
American army, had not been consulted, except in- 
directly, in regard to the plan of this great Northern 
campaign. 

The invitation was sent to Lafayette. The Board 
of War assembled, with Gates as president and as 
the head of the illustrious company. Lights filled 
the hall, and the tables sparkled with wine. The 
American flag was there and the lilies of France. 
The dark purpose of the banquet was known to all. 

The American officers were not intemperate men. 
Baron de Kalb, who servecUthe American cause, was 
a total abstainer. But in those days the wine cup, 
if not the wine, went with the toasts as an emblem 
of loyalty. They began to lift their glasses in honor 


i8o THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

of the heroes. The toastmaster named the name of 
Gates, the hero of Saratoga. The banquet hall rang 
with applause. Then he named the name of each 
hero of the war, one by one. The glasses gleamed, 
and the hall rang with cheers. At length the 
list of heroes was completed. The name of 
Washington had not been spoken ; it had been left 
out. 

The tall, slender form of the young marquis 
arose. 

“ Hear! hear!” said all. All hearts beat in ex- 
pectancy. There was silence, as he stood before 
them. 

Lafa^^ette surveyed the Board, who awaited with 
breathless attention for what he had to say. 

“There is one toast,” he said firmly, “that you 
omitted.” Hearts stood still. He continued : “ I 
propose a toast to the Commander-in-Chief of the 
American Army — George Washington ! ” 

“That was a glorious hour,” said the Grena- 
dier. 

He lifted the glass alone, and in silence. The 
cabal saw that their purpose had failed. The scheme 
of the Board of War to supersede Washington was 
thwarted. The son of France had been true. He 
seemed to have extinguished his own light ; was it 
so? To Lafayette, standing there amid deserted 
hearts, that moment was one of those victories of 
the vanquished that rise like stars in the memory 
of mankind. 

May the young men of America be as true as 


THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. i8i 

was Lafayette to the old principle of Auvergne sans 
tache ! 

“ Vive r America!'' said the Grenadier, and he. 
cheered with both feet— the live one and the wooden 
one. 

The new stories made all the people, young and 
old, more eager than ever to greet Lafayette. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. THE GRENADIER TELLS 
A WASHINGTON STORY. LADY LUCY FAINTS. 

It was announced in the Dame’s school, that on 
a certain Saturday afternoon, the Princess would 
be present and Lcidy Lucy^ and that the Grenadier 
would tell a story of the early days of Washington. 

The children were excited. They ran home that 
day to tell the news. The stories of Washington 
and Lafayette had become household tales. 

It was a great day at the school. Little Lady 
Lucy came on her crutch, and the Princess in her 
carriage. It was known that Lady Lucy that day 
was to be presented with her new gown. 

It was a curious story that the Grenadier told that 
day a kindergarten story of Washington. 

THE INDIAN SPY. 

(CHRISTMAS AT MOUNT VERNON— A CABIN TALE OF 
1783.) 

“ It is done, and it is done well.”— Washington to Knox before 
the battle of York town. 

It is December 24, 1783. The War of the Rev- 
olution is a record of the past. Washington has 
bidden farewell to his army, has resigned his com- 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 


mission to Congress, and is hastening home to 
Mount Vernon over rough roads and through keen 
air, there to meet his family and friends on Christ- 
mas Eve, and to hang up his sword among the 
peaceful implements of the farm. On Christmas 
Eve he is to follow the example of Cincinnatus of 
old, and by giving up every ambition to the in- 
terests of peace, is to prove himself to be the Cin- 
cinnatus of the West. Nothing can be more fitting 
to his career than for him to lay down his sword on 
Christmas Eve. 

Mount Vernon is all expectation. Not only the 
hearts of the family there beat with joy, but the 
hearts of more than a hundred servants who love 
the Great Defender of Liberty as a father. 

A horn rends the air. Even the animals on the 
place seem to know its meaning. Children run out 
upon the great lawn, and Mrs. Washington stands 
at the open door. The slaves are running to and 
fro, until they reach the lawn, which they approach 
with reverent decorum. There are heard the hoofs 
of horses, — he has come home. He stands there 
before them in his military suit for the last time. 
A great shout welcomes him ; every heart throbs 
with pride and joy. It is Christmas Eve. 

After the welcome and the greeting, as of one 
voice, that rent the air, as his neighbors and friends 
received him at the door, the hero was lost for 
some hours in the privacy of his family ; the neigh- 
bors went to their homes, and the servants to their 
cabins. 


i 84 the BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

He hung up his sword and put aside his military 
dress. The servants, a hundred or more in number, 
were to celebrate Christmas Eve, in one of the 
largest wings of the great mansion. Fires blazed 
in the room, and candles twinkled under the bowery 
evergreens and mistletoes. There were to be songs 
and dancing, fiddles and bass viols. 

There was also to be a Christmas story, and this 
was to begin the festivities in the negro quarters. 
The story-teller was to be no other person than 
“ Old Billy,” the body-servant of Washington dur- 
ing the Revolutionary campaigns. 

In his regimentals, he looked like an African 
monarch. No man in all America could have been 
prouder than he. His step was slow and heavy, 
and his ornaments were many. He had worn the 
same trappings by Washington’s side. 

The negroes stood silent, as in awe, as the old 
servant came into the quarters” with his lantern, 
and entered the great blazing room. He took his 
place in front of the warm log fire under the mistle- 
toes ; he rapped on the table with his cane, arid 
said something after this manner, as I have been 
told : — 

This is no common night, my frens. I can see 
a brighter twinkle in the stars. You have sent for 
me to tell you a Christmas story, and I have come, 
and the robes of destiny enfold me about, such as I 
wore on the night of Brandywine, and in those 
awful days before Massa Washington crossed the 
Delaware. 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 


185 

“The French people were encroaching upon the 
English territory in the Ohio Valley, and were mak- 
ing treaties with the Indian chiefs, and the Gover- 
nor found it necessary to send a messenger to the 
French commander there to demand that the French 
^ should cease to bring immigrants to the valley, and 
to discover the French intentions. He chose Massa 
George Washington, for although he was so young, 
Massa George had such a soul of honor in his face 
that he awakened a sense of respect in all who came 
into his presence. He was to meet Indian chiefs 
on the way. A godlike soul makes an enemy stand 
still, and one must be brave to treat with an Indian. 
Yes, yes. 

“ Massa Washington started on his expedition, 
facing the winds of winter. It was late in the 
Fall of 1753. He had with him a man named Von 
Bram, a queer old Dutchman, as an interpreter, and 
a bold woodsman named Gist for a guide. He 
traveled long when the autumn leaves were falling, 
and came at length to the Indian village called 
Venango. Some very, strange things happened 
there. Snuff the candles, and I will tell you about 
them.” 

They snuffed the candles, and all eyes were intently 
bent upon the old story-teller, who lifted his finger, 
saying, “ Yes, yes. 

“ There lived in the forest village a great Indian 
king. He was called the Half King, because he 
himself was under oath to obey the chief of the 
Iroquois. The French desired him to favor their 


i86 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

claims, and the English did the same, and the Half 
King knew not what to do, and so he used to get 
drunk. The Half King had chiefs under him, and 
he used to feast them here in the Indian village. 

“ Do you hear the wind rustle the leaves? * 

“Young Massa Washington came to the Indian 
village in the cold winter weather ; colder than to- 
night ; the wind rustled the leaves. He found the 
Half King there, and laid before him the purpose 
of his journey. The Half King said to him 

“ ‘ White pilgrim, I am a friend to the English.’ 

Then you will furnish me guides,’ said Massa 
George, ‘ for the way to the fort of the great com- 
mander is full of danger.’ 

“ ‘And French Indians are in the way,’ said the 
Half King. 

“ Then the Half King promised to send guides 
with Massa George and he made a great feast for 
Massa George and his interpreter, Von Brara, and 
his guide, Gist, and the poor, bothered Indian got 
drunk again, and when he was out of his wits he 
told Massa George the purpose of the French to 
make treaties with the Indians, and so to gain pos- 
session of the great valleys of the Ohio. 

Be so still that you will hear the leaves rustle. 

“At the feast appeared a strange Indian. He 
stood apart from the rest, and hardly seemed to 
know them. He had black plumes and white 
wampum, and his eyes seemed to be a fire-dance, 
and his ears were open all the time. He stood in 
still places. He listened, and listened. Mr. Gist, the 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 187 

guide, bent his eyes upon him, when he moved 
back, back into the night, into the night, like a 
shadow, and he was lost in the shadow of the pines. 
You can hear the leaves rustle now. 

“ ‘ Who’s that ? ’ asked the guide. None of the 
Indians seemed to know. He went away, disap- 
pearing like a black ghost, and he did not return. 
No, no. 

“ It was December, then. Massa George must 
face the thick forests, the snows, the campfires at 
night. There could be no Virginia Christmas for 
him. Christmas that year would find him in the 
woods. Yes, yes. 

“ There was peril everywhere. The Indian who 
had seemed to melt away in the darkness might be 
an evil spirit, and follow them. He might be a spy, 
a runner, a witch Indian. But that could not matter. 
Massa George never shrank from duty. No, no ; 
Massa George never did that. 

“ Oh, frens, that was a terrible journey through 
the December woods. But Massa George found 
the French commander at a fort on French Creek, 
and delivered his message and received a sealed 
reply to be conveyed to Governor Dinwiddle. His 
work was done, and it was done well. Yes, yes ; 
Massa George used to say those words, as I said. 

“ Then Massa George undertook to return to 
Venango, the Indian village, by boat. The cold 
became dreadful. The river was partially filled 
with ice, there were waterfalls of broken ice ; and 
the boat was overturned, and Massa George was 


i88 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

obliged to wade for long distances in the chilly 
waters. Yes, yes. But he arrived at length at 
Venango, the Indian village, and was sheltered 
there, and found a friendly fire in the lodges of the 
Half King. The leaves rustled about the lodges. 

“ It was just before Christmas Eve. As he lay 
before the fire on that evening, he thought of the 
journey before him. He had learned that the In- 
dians were secretly his enemies, and he saw how 
easily he and his little company might fall before 
them. He might be killed even there. Oh, what 
a Christmas Eve that must have been ! The leaves 
rustled, but it was about the lone cabin, then. 

“ ‘ We must go to-morrow,’ he said to Gist. 

‘‘ ‘ To-morrow is Christmas,’ said the guide. 

“ There were no Christmas to Massa George when 
he had a duty to perform. No, no. He rose up on 
December 25, Christmas Day, and faced the forests, 
the ice and the storms. He must go. It was bitter 
cold. The guide may have seen the face of the 
.strange Indian again. He suspected, it may be, 
that something more evil than the wild beast might 
follow them now. The crows cried in the air. 

“ ‘ I never faced a Christmas like this,’ he said. 

“ They traveled all Christmas Day. They walked 
beside their horses, to save the strength of the suffer- 
ing animals. Massa Washington himself walked be 
side his horse, a part of the long way. They had to 
leave the poor animals behind, at last. That was no 
holiday journey. The fate of the great land was in 
it. Massa Washington knew that ; he felt it ; his 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 189 

feet became numb, but he hurried on. Yes, yes ; he 
hurried on. 

“ At length they reached a place with a terrible 
name, — Murdering Town. Hear the leaves rustle ; 
—Murdering Town. They came to it about two 
o’clock on the morning of the 27th, two days after 
Christmas Day. 

The day broke, that morning, revealing the In- 
dian lodges, the river and the snowy woods ! Smoke- 
wreaths curled up from dark houses, and the Indians 
came out to greet the strangers. 

“ What was that ! 

“Suddenly a tall Indian stood before them, with 
his black plume. I will call him ‘Black Plume.’ 

“ ‘ White brother, I know you,’ said the Indian to 
Mr. Gist, the guide. ‘ I have meet you before.’ He 
was a wily Indian. 

“ ‘ But how came you here ? ’ asked the guide. 

“ ‘ I, too, am a guide.’ 

“ Black Plume lifted his brows. Gist saw it was 
the same silent Indian who had seemed to melt into 
the darkness at the feast given by the Half King. 

“ Was he a friend or foe, a man or a spirit ? 

“ ‘ White brother, I am a guide,’ he said, ‘ and you 
will need me. I will go with you.’ He was a wily 
Indian. 

“ Gist, the guide, indeed needed a guide ; but 
should he accept this one whom no one seemed to 
know? That was a hard question. 

“ ‘ Why do you travel on foot ? ’ asked Black 
Plume, the strange Indian. 


190 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ ‘ We have left our horses to make more speed. 
Our business demands haste.’ The Indian’s eyes 
twinkled. 

“ ‘ Then you need me. The trails are full of 
snow. My cabin lies in your way. I will take you 
there.’ 

“ Massa Washington desired, above all else, to 
make a quick journey back to Virginia, and he list- 
ened to what the Indian said. 

“ ‘ Will you go with us to the Forks of the 
Alleghany ? ’ he asked of the Indian. 

“ ‘ I will go with my white brother.’ Oh, but he 
was a wily Indian ! 

“ ‘ And take us by the shortest way ? ’ asked 
Massa George. 

“ ‘ My cabin house stands on the short trail.’ 

“ ^ We will follow you.’ Massa George said that. 

“ They traveled eighteen miles, when Massa 
Washington’s feet became sore, and he stopped to 
rest. 

“ ‘ Come on,’ said the Indian, ' I hear a gun. My 
cabin is near.’ 

“ Massa Washington had heard no gun, but he 
tried to follow the guide. 

“ He faltered, again overcome. That was a hard 
way. 

“ ‘ Come on, on,’ said the Indian. ‘ I hear two 
war-whoops.’ 

“ But Massa Washington had heard no war-whoops 
Whom was he following? What did the Indian 
mean? He was a wily Indian. 


LADY LUCY'S NEW GOWN. 


191 

‘‘ They struggled on. Soon there opened before 
them a great white plain, with an oak tree standing 
out near the margin. It was Clear Meadow. 

“ Black Plume turned toward the great tree. 
Then he suddenly stopped, and looked back and 
leveled his gun at Massa George and something 
hissed in the air. 

“ ‘ Are you shot. Gist? ’ asked Massa George, 

“ ‘ No,’ answered the guide, ‘ are you ? ’ 

* No.’ 

The Indian leaped forward, and hid himself be- 
hind the great oak tree, and began to load his gun 
again. 

‘“We must hold him,’ said Massa George. 
Then he and his guide leaped upon the Indian be- 
fore he could prime his gun, and took the gun away 
from him. The Indian looked wild. 

“ ‘ We must kill him here,’ said Gist. 

“ ‘ Hold ! ’ said Massa George. 

“ ‘ He must die, or we are lost. He is a traitor ! ’ 

“ ‘ Hold ! ’ said Massa George. 

“ ‘ Did you fife the gun as a signal ?’ asked Gist 
of Black Plume. 

“ Black Plume’s eyes brightened. 

“ ‘ Go with me to my cabin,’ he said. ‘ It is 
near.’ 

“ Massa George was thinking. 

“‘Tell him to go to his cabin,’ said Massa 
George. 

“ Massa George knew human nature even then. 

“ The guide told the Indian to go, and lifted the 


192 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

savage’s own gun against him. How that Indian 
must have felt ! 

“ Black Plume went, going without his gun, and 
his own gun was pointed after him. How that poor 
Indian must have felt ! He marched away, know- 
ing as he went that there was a lifted gun behind 
him. Massa Washington stood and watched him 
as he went straight as an arrow into a deep forest 
trail and disappeared. Would the Indian be likely 
to return? Never. Massa George knew that the 
Indian would have no desire to return, and he felt 
that he had saved a human life. 

“ The Indian’s death would have made him ene- 
mies, while the living man was likely to become a 
friendly Indian. Do you see? That was Massa 
George, when he was a young man. 

“ Frens, did you ever hear how Massa Washington 
tried to save the life of poor Major Andre ? He 
always tried to save life from suffering and blood. 
He was always merciful in the hard days of life. ' I 
love him. I feel that God has led him, don’t you? 
Yes, yes. 

“ He has come back to-night ; my frens, he has 
done his work, and he has done it well. Yes, yes. 

“ I can seem to see Black Plume facing the forest 
without his gun. That Indian whose life was spared 
never returned to do Massa Washington harm. 
No, no. 

“ My frens, folks repeat the same things over and 
over in their lives. Massa Washington treated Corn- 
wallis as he did the poor Indian ; he returned his 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 


^93 


sword to him. He never caused any man’s heart to 
ache, if he could help it. But he did his duty, 
Yes, yes. 

“ And now his duty is done, and ^ it is well done,’ 
as he used to say of the faithful acts of others. 

“ Yes,— ” 

The door opened. Billy stood with lifted finger. 
His eyes grew wide. Who was it that stood there? 

It was Washington, without his regimentals. 

I am glad to see you all so happy,” he said, and 
closed the door. 

Billy and the cdmpany, young and old, remained 
silent. They could hear the leaves rustle. 

‘' You may snuff the candles now,” said the story- 
teller. “ Old Billy will now have to take off his regi- 
mentals. Yes, yes!” 

Soon the party became so merry that they no 
longer heard the rustle of the winds in the mag- 
nolias. 

After the story, a very interesting event happened. 
Little Lady Lucy rose to go, courtesying and say- 
ing— 

“ That was a good story — husband guarded him 
on the Delaware (Schuylkill).” 

“ Stop a moment,” said Dame Toogood. “The 
Princess has a word to say to you.” 

Lady Lucy stopped, leaning on her crutch. 

“The Princess,” said she in some confusion. 
“ Con — ” she almost said “ Conquiddles,” right 
there in the schoolroom. 


194 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


The Princess rose. 

“ My worthy soldier’s widow,” she said, “ Lafay- 
ette is expected here in the late autumn days, and 
the people all hope to meet him. Your husband 
acted as guard to him on his visits to Valley Forge 
on the Schuylkill, and he left the marks of his feet 
in blood on the white snow. We wish you to meet 
Lafayette and to act as the representative of our 
schools. So the school wishes to make you a little 
present for the occasion, a dress that the children 
earned in the berry pasture. The children wish you 
to wear it for them. I have added to it some little 
gifts of my own — a lace cap and kerchief, and some 
gold beads to wear over the kerchief. Accept the 
presents for the sake of the love that the school bears 
you, and wear the dress in honor of the children as 
a soldier’s widow.” 

The Princess lifted a package to give to Lady 
Lucy, when the old woman’s face wrinkled with 
tears, and she threw up her hand and said — 

“ I am going ! ” and she sank down beside her 
crutch. 

They lifted her up. 

“ I am better now,” she said. “ I can walk home 
and carry the bundle. God give me strength to wear 
the dress on that day.” 

“ I will take you home in my carriage,” said the 
Princess. 

The old woman’s face wrinkled again, and she 
turned to the children and said — 

“ I thank ye kindly.” 


LADY LUCY’S NEW GOWN. 


195 


The children’s faces all shone with the inner light, 
and their hearts beat happy as the coach was driven 
away. 

The story of Washington and the Indian showed 
to all the heart of America’s hero. The people 
were reading, as it were, the spirit of their country 
in these tales, and were made to rejoice in the fame 
of the “ patriots glorious of old.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


EXPECTATION. A STORY-TELLER FROM t:ONCORD 

MEETS THE BERRY PICKERS. LAFAYETTE PAYS 

AN OLD hero’s DEBTS. THE OWL AND THE 

GUN. 

The expectation of the coming of Lafayette was 
given a new interest by a visitor to the Hall from 
Concord, Mass., who came down to Benji’s store, 
met some of the people there, and who had a re- 
markable story to tell. 

He, too, sat down under the great elms, and on 
one such occasion, he talked with the berry pickers, 
among whom was Little Lady Lucy and Flossie and 
Pierre F'alaise. 

“You have seen Lafayette,” said Little Lady 
Lucy, curiously. “ We are expecting him here : tell 
us now just how he looks.” 

“ He is an old man,” said the visitor, “ but full 
of life, and very polite. He is as generous as he is 
polite. His heart is full of sympathy for the soldiers 
whom the war made poor.” 

“ Hear that,” said Pierre. “ Lady Lucy, perhaps 
he will have a good word for you. His heart would 
go out to you, if he knew your case.” 

“ I can’t be sure of that,” said the old woman; 
“but I think it would.” 

196 


THE OWL AND THE GUN. 


197 


“You are a soldier’s widow,” said the visitor. 

“ Yes, my friend.” 

“ Let me tell you what Lafayette did to relieve a 
poor man whom he had known when he was en- 
camped in Rhode Island.” 

All listened. 

“ There lived a man in Providence, Rhode Island, 
by the name of William Barton. He was born in 
the bowery village of Warren, Rhode Island, be- 
tween the Narragansett Bay and the Mount Hope 
Bay. When he heard of the battle of Bunker Hill 
he seized his gun, and rode to Boston, and joined 
the patriots. After the British had captured Gen- 
eral Lee, the Americans had no prisoner of equal 
rank to exchange for him.” 

“ This brave man had learned that General Pres- 
cott, a British officer, was making his headquarters 
at the Overing House, near Newport, on the island 
of Rhode Island. He resolved to capture him. To 
do this, he secured five boats, and the service of 
forty men. 

“ He set out on this expedition the night of July 
4th, 1775, just one year before the declaration of 
Independence. On the lOth of July, he landed near 
the Overing House at night, when the British 
guards were sleeping after a carouse. 

“ The sentinel at the door was awake, and 
said — 

“ ‘ Who comes here? ’ 

« < j » 

“ ' Advance, and give the countersign.’ 


198 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

I have none. Are there any deserters here ? ’ 
asked Barton. 

“As he said this he seized the astonished sentinel 
and pinioned him. 

“‘If you say a word,’ he said, ‘we will down 
you.’ 

“ He entered the house, awoke the host of the 
house. 

“‘ Is General Prescott here ?’ he asked. 

“ The frightened host confessed that the general 
was in the house. 

“ Barton was shown the general’s room. He tried 
the door. It was locked. He could not force it. 

“ He had brought with him a negro by the name 
of Guy Watson. Guy had a head like a cannon- 
ball. He used it for a battering-ram, and stove in 
the door. 

“ Barton seized Prescott in his bed. 

You are my prisoner, sir ! ’ 

So I see, said the general, in terror, 

“ ‘ Come with me,’ said Barton. 

“ ‘ Let me dress.’ 

‘“No— this matter requires haste. Take your 
clothes with you.’ 

He seized the general, and ran with him down 
to the boats on the bay, dragging him over the 
stubble, and carried him away from the island. 

“ For this bold deed he was made an officer. He 
was wounded in the war, and became an invalid. A 
bullet from his wound is in his house. 

“ He purchased some land in Vermont after the 


THE OWL AND THE GUN. 


199 


war, and became involved in a lawsuit, and was im- 
prisoned for debt for fourteen years — until now. 
He was held in the inn of the town where the pur- 
chase had been made. 

“ Now, listen, all. When Lafayette came to Bos- 
ton, and heard that William Barton was a prisoner, 
what do you think he did ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Lady Lucy — “ went to see 
him, maybe. Tell us what he did ; he may do the 
same here. Just think, children, that man is coming 
here, too.” 

“ He rode all the way to the town in Vermont, 
embraced the old hero, and paid the debt.” 

Nous vous aimons ! ” exclaimed Flossie. 

And that man is coming here ! ” said Little 
Lady Lucy. “ I would almost give my eyes for the 
sight of him! Just to think — he is coming here, 
here ; body and soul ! ” 

The stranger from Concord tarried some weeks 
in the place, and joined the berry-pickers in the 
afternoons, when they came from the fields. 

He liked to relate Boston tales of the Revolution 
to Pierre and Flossie. 

That was a glorious story that you told of 
Lafayette,” said Flossie to him one afternoon. 
“ Tell us another story of some hero as brave as 
Barton.” 

The visitor related a very curious story which 
revealed to Pierre and Flossie the spirit of the old 
war. 

Little Lady Lucy, who was superstitious, was 


200 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


“ all ears,” as she said, for stories that one couldn’t 
quite explain. 

So she held her snuff-box long in hand, without 
shaking it, as the visitor related the Concord legend 
to Flossie, who was “ all eyes.” 

The Owl and the Gun. 

There is a true story of the last days of Cap- 
tain Isaac Davis, the first officer killed in the Revo- 
lutionary War, who fell at the old North Bridge, in 
the Concord fight, April 19, 1775, that is very curi- 
ous, and has haunted my imagination ever since I 
first heard it told by one of the descendants of the 
men of Acton. 

It was in that heroic town of Acton, Massachu- 
setts, where I first heard the tale, a town of elms; 
orchards, old farmsteads, and crumbly walls, — a 
place where the present recalls the past, whose spirit 
seems embalmed in the air. The old New England 
roads are there, and the robins have not left them 
in summer, nor the snow-birds in the wintry white- 
ness ; the graveyards of precisianists and patriots 
are there, and the woodbine still mantles the mossy 
roofs. Old New England is there, with a haunting 
legend in many a house, whose monument is a 
steepled chimney, into which swallows dart in the 
long July days. 

The story which I am about to relate, as a pic- 
ture of the past, haunted many houses during two 
generations gone. The children of the Revolution- 
ary patriots of Concord and Acton heard it from 


THE OWL AND THE GUN. 


201 


their fathers, by the great fireplaces, under old flint- 
lock guns, and wondered, and wondered, and asked 
of each other: “What do you suppose .that owl 
was ? Did he know ? ” 

Isaac Davis was a Minuteman, and the Minute- 
men were those patriots who had formed companies 
under the recommendation of the Provincial Con- 
gress in 1774, that military companies should be 
formed to be ready to meet any emergency at any 
hour. Such were the volunteers of Acton, and they 
made Isaac Davis their captain. His company con- 
sisted of about forty young men, who were required 
to be on duty three hours every day. 

When Captain Davis came home from drilling 
his company of young patriots, he was accustomed 
to hang his gun over the shelf above the fireplace 
in his keeping-room, or “ spare room ” as the old 
New England guest-room used to be called. 

One day, in April weather, he returned fatigued 
and hung up his gun in the usual place. He said 
to his wife : 

“ Alarm is in the air, and the Minutemen are 
likely to be called into service at any time.” 

The next morning, he opened the door of the 
spare room, and a wonder met his eyes. On his 
gun sat a white owl. In the days of New England 
superstition, which seemed to influence all classes, 
the white owl was regarded as a bird of ill-omen. 

How came the bird there? How did it get 
there ? 

The conduct of the bird was as mysterious as its 


202 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

presence. Captain Davis approached him, and met 
his stony stare, but the bird clung to the gun : he 
did not try to escape or to fly away. 

The captain was a brave man, but his heart sank 
within him. He called the family in to see the 
wonder. Hope seemed to fade from his face from 
that hour. 

The next morning, according to the legend, the 
owl was there, perched silently on the gun. Then 
he was gone. How he came, and how he went away, 
no one could say. 

“ Wife,” said the young captain, the Minute- 
men will soon be called into service. I shall lead 
them, and I may fall.” 

He gave her a look of unutterable tenderness, but 
his heart was ready for duty. 

A cry echoed along the country roads : — 

“ The regulars are coming ! ” 

The alarm rang through Lexington, Concord, and 
Acton. Men bore it past the doors of the farm- 
houses on flying horses. 

“ The regulars are coming ! ” 

Women cried out in terror, and then were silent 
and brave, and helped their husbands, lovers, and 
brothers to buckle on their swords and guns. 

In the early morn of April 19, 1775, an unknown 
horseman came dashing through Concord. He dis- 
mounted at the house of Captain Joseph Robbins 
and rapped at the door. 

“ The British are coming ! ” he cried. “ We must 
spread the alarm.” 


THE OWL AND THE GUN. 


203 


Captain Robbins’s son leaped upon a horse, and 
rode with full speed to Captain Davis’s door, a mile 
and a half distant. 

Captain Davis heard the summons, and received 
it as- a call to death. Superstition had the influence 
of verity over him, as it had over most men at that 
time. 

He faced his gun and powder-horn. His children 
were sick abed ; no family could need a father 
more. There have been great commanders who 
could face peril and death, but who quailed be- 
fore the nameless terror of superstition. The highest 
patriotism rises above all. 

As Captain Davis faced the gun on which the 
mysterious bird had perched, his soul rose above 
the fear of death and superstition. It rose above 
his love of his distressed wife and sick children. It 
rose above everything but his sense of duty to the 
hour. 

Captain Davis took down the gun. He did not 
waver. To him it was a fatal act. He seized his 
powder-horn. He dashed down the road, and 
aroused the men of Acton. He ignored supersti- 
tion at the hour of duty, as a few hours later he 
would face the foe. Without breakfast, the men of 
Acton 'seized their guns and powder-horns, and pre- 
pared to follow him. Captain Davis then returned 
to his home. He went to the house where his chil- 
dren were sick of the canker-rash. He went down 
the road and looked back. In that look, his wife 
saw that he never expected to return again. 


204 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

He went to the North Bridge, Concord. 

I have a right to go to Concord on the king’s 
highway,” he said, “ and that way I intend to go, if 
I meet all the king’s troops in Boston ! ” 

He arrived at the bridge about nine o’clock. 
The British were there, and the American forces wait- 
ing for action. He reported his company ready for 
duty. 

“ Who will lead the movement against the 
British?” was the question of the hour. 

“ I haven’t a man that is afraid to go,” said Cap- 
tain Davis, and the Acton company was given the 
post of danger. Captain Davis was the soul of the 
conflict. 

The Americans moved toward the bridge and 
the British fired. Captain Davis was shot through 
the heart. He fell dead. 

That April afternoon the body of Captain Davis 
was carried home to his wife and fatherless children 
and laid upon the bed that he had left. 

“Take good care of the children,” had been his 
last words to his wife, and she would have to be a 
father and mother, too. 

“ Why do I tell this story of chimney corners?” 
said the visitor to Flossie, who was “ all eyes,” and 
to Little Lady Lucy, who was “all ears.” “ Would 
I suggest that the owl came mysteriously to the gun 
under some spiritual influence as a warning to Cap- 
tain Davis? No. Captain Davis did not hesitate 
to take down that gun on which he believed, under 
the influence of old superstition, had perched a bird 


THE OWL AND THE GUN. 


205 


of evil omen. Superstition could not deter him 
from his duty. Nothing could. He was true to the 
hour. 

“ So here is a picture, vivid and true, of what the 
men of 1 775 were. The story of the Owl and the Gun 
illustrates the power of the soul that is consecrated 
to a, righteous cause. The hand that took down 
that gun was nerved by a heart that was wholly true.” 

The story of what Lafayette did for the prisoner 
for debt passed through the berry pastures, and was 
told in the Hall. Story-telling became the atmos- 
phere of the place. Pierre related Swiss and Ger- 
man stories, which teach life, and the people re- 
vived their old home traditions of the Revolution. 

There is moral power in story-telling. Firesides 
with stories are welcome places. Pierre’s story-tell- 
ing influence made the atmosphere for the coming 
of Lafayette a thrilling one. 

That was an animated scene when the visitor one 
day said under the trees, — 

“ Shout, children : I have news from New York. 
Lafayette is on his way to Philadelphia ! He will 
be here within a week ! 

The children ran to their homes to tell the joy- 
ful news. 

The Nation itself was one heart and one voice. 
The very air breathed one word — Lafayette ! 

“ See ! they furl the welcome sail. 

Freemen’s shouts his ear assail, 

More than twice three millions hail — 

Welcome Lafayette 1 ” 


2o6 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

Now he sees the Boston dome, 

Now he feels his heart at home ; 

What were all thy triumphs, Rome, 

Now, to Lafayette ! ” 

Lady Lucy told the story of Washington’s saving 
the Indian, and that of Lafayette’s payment of the 
old soldier’s debts over and over. “ Just to think,” 
she used to say, “what men they were, and hus- 
band he guarded them both one dark night ! ” 

“ I’ll tell Lafayette of that,” Pierre used to say 
often. “ America has a history to be proud of when 
one gets to the heart of it.” 

He was right. No country has nobler tales than 
these which, although given story form, are true. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“ COMING !" LITTLE LADY LUCY’S KINDERGARTEN 
STORY — “ CHINK CHINK.” 

Coming ! He was coming. The people could 
feel it in their hearts, and Little Lady Lucy said 
she could feel itdn her “ bones.” 

They practised a joyful song to sing to Lafayette 
in the park, if they were to have the opportunity. 
It was a New England song. They were to sing it 
in a chorus, wearing ribbons of red, white and blue, 
bearing the motto, “ Nous vous aimo7ts, Lafayette^ 

Welcome thou to freedom’s clime, 

Glorious hero ! Chief sublime. 

Garlands bright for thee are wreathed, 

Vows of filial ardor breathed. 

Veterans’ cheeks with tears are wet, ^ 

“ Nous vous aimons, Lafayette'' 

Monmouth’s field is rich with bloom. 

Where thy warriors found their tomb ; 

Yorktown’s height resounds no more 
Victor’s shout or cannon’s roar, 

Yet our hearts record their debt — 

“ Nous vous aimons, Lafayette 

Brandywine, whose current roll’d. 

Proud with blood of heroes bold, 

That our country’s debt shall tell, 

' ' That our gratitude shall swell. 

Infant breasts thy wounds regret : 

“ Nous vous aimons, Lafayette." 


207 


2o8 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


Sires who sleep in glory’s bed, 

Sires whose blood for us was shed, 

Taught us w'hen our knee we bend, 

With the prayer thy name to blend, 

Shall we e’er such charge forget ? 

“ Nous vous aimons, Lafayette^' 

When our blooming cheeks shall fade, 

Pale with time or sorrow’s shade. 

When our clustering tresses fair 
Frost of wintry age shall wear. 

E’en till memory’s sun be set, 

“ Nous vous aimons, Lafayette'^ 

One day in the Lake House, Little Lady Lucy 
surprised the merry berry picking story-tellers, by 
saying — 

“ Now, I’ll tell you one of those new kind of 
stories. One has come to me.” The company 
emptied their hands of assorted berries, and listened 
with lively faces. 

Little Lady Lucy had caught the kindergarten 
spirit. 

She put her two hands together, and struck them 
upon her knees, chink chink. 

“ Hear that now,” she said, — “ chink, chink ! ” 
She added — 

“ That is not the sound of gold, nor of silver. 
But that is what the hands say. 

‘‘ What do the hands say ?” 

“ Chink, chink,” said Flossie. 

“ Not without you use them. It is the hammer 
stroke that make the hands say that. 

“ If you know how to use your hands rightly 


A KINDERGARTEN STORY. 


209 


they will have the real chink, chink to handle. 
This chinky chink that I make by striking my hands 
upon my knees, is fool’s gold. But if you use your 
hands rightly in life, you will have something better 
than that. Will they not, Pierre? Now my story 
* is done ! ” 

14 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“ WELCOME, LAFAYETTE ! ’’ 

He is coming ! ” 

The shout went up before Benji’s store and ran 
through the bowery roads. The children who heard 
it there on that cool autumn day of liquid gold air 
and burning leaves, carried it to their homes. The 
faces of the old farmers lighted up at the words, 
and even their horses seemed to have received new 
spirit through the quickened blood in the hands 
that held the reins. 

“When is he coming?” asked the young and 
old. 

“To-morrow,” was the answer. “The Count 
is preparing to go to meet him in his barge.” 

On hearing this many people ran to the Lake 
House where the barge was. It was a beautiful 
sight that here met their eyes. The barge had six- 
teen oars, and had been decorated so as to exhibit 
the liberties of America and France. 

The “ next day” dawned in royal Indian summer 
splendor. The French flag and the American flag 
were unrolled from the barge. Joseph Bonaparte 
and his suite came down to the Lake House, and 

the rowers in livery rowed the barge, all beauty, 
210 


“WELCOME, LAFAYETTE! 


21 1 


color and grail, out into the still waters, and passed 
down the river to meet Lafayette. 

The people gathered at the Lake House to wait 
its return. Bellemere was there in his best suit 
with medals. The old Bordentown farmers were 
there in their Sunday clothes. The schoolmaster 
was there in wig and knee-breeches, his pen gone 
from behind his ear. His pupils were there, wait- 
ing for the hero, after all they had heard, as for the 
coming of a demi-god. 

Dame Toogood was there, and her wonderful 
school. She wore her best bonnet, and best cap 
under it, and although the season was late, her little 
girls were dressed in white, and each wore thirteen 
curls. 

Carriages came from all the country round ; a 
stranger could hardly have believed that there 
were so many vehicles in the country o*n the 
Delaware. 

And with the rest came Lady Lucy in her new 
gown, cap and bonnet. She came to the park 
slowly along the leaf-strewn highway, and Flossie 
was with her. Flossie wore Swiss ribbons, and bore 
the flag of the cross of Helvetia. 

Lady Lucy looked like a duchess, only she 
carried a piece of balm in her hand, a very American 
trait. Flossie had combed her hair “beautiful ” as 
she said, and in such a way as to form two shining 
borders for her face. She wore a kerchief around 
her neck, and over it was the family string of gold 
beads, which the poorest people often had in those 


212 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


times — sometimes their only heirloom and super- 
fluous possession. 

The people made way for her. 

The sun rose high. The day was so serene and 
golden that there was scarcely a ripple to be seen 
on the Delaware. 

In the afternoon a far flag broke the bosom of 
the waters. 

“ He is coming ! ” the shout went up. 

Then the barge was seen with the flags of France 
and America, with Lafayette and the Count seated 
under the wings of a canopy. The oars rose and 
fell, and the barge drew nearer. 

The people were thrilled with excitement. One 
was approaching whose soul had lifted the world, 
and whose life had been given to the common peo- 
ple out of love to the people, — one who had not 
sought to gain from the world, but to give to the 
world. 

“ What a scene is this ! ” said Bellemere. La- 
fayette refused titles from Napoleon when they 
were offered him from Napoleon by Count Joseph 
himself!” 

The old farmers heard him, and said one after 
another — '' Welcome, Lafayette ! ” The people 
gathered around Bellemere. 

“Joseph Bonaparte went to visit Lafayette at La 
Grande, to offer him a place at court. But Lafa- 
yette told him that he had resolved never to accept 
any place of honor to which he was not elected by 
the people.” 



LAFAYETTE 






% 



“WELCOME, LAFAYETTE C’ 213 

The old farmers cheered. 

“ No place of honor to which he was not elected 
by the people,” said one after another. 

“ No place of honor to which he was not elected 
by the people,” said Dame Toogood to her school, 
bowing with a shining face. 

“ Did you hear what he said ? asked Flossie of 
Lady Lucy. “ Lafayette told Joseph Bonaparte 
when the great Napoleon offered him titles, that 
he would accept no place of honor to which he was 
not elected by the people.” 

“ What a man h^ was,” said Lady Lucy, “ true as 
the sun to nature in springtime ! Let us all shout 
‘Welcome, Lafayette!’ and say it over and over 
until he lands.” 

The people shouted and shouted again, and 
pressed one upon another. 

The barge was near now. A coach with splendid 
horses from the Hall came down to the lake, and the 
people made way for it. It was to receive Lafa- 
yette. ♦ 

He came— not the thin, graceful young man of 
forty years before, but with a slow step, and a face 
full of the furrows of suffering. Would you see 
him as he looked then? Here he is 

A shout rent the air as he landed. Women stood 
bowed but with lifted eyes, and men held their hats 
high in air. The children repeated-" vous 

aimons, Lafayette ! ” and sung the song. 

And the carriage moved forward towards the open 
doors of the Hall that shone in the afternoon sun. 


214 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

The men who had gathered there wept as the 
wheels rattled slowly by. 

Lafayette lifted his hat, and surveyed the crowd. 
His glance sent a thrill into all hearts. 

'‘Little Lady Lucy!” said Flossie. “His eye 
fell on you. Did you see? ” 

The neatly attired old lady had seen. She thought 
of Valley Forge, and the print of her husband’s feet 
in the snows — the red way in the darkness. 

“ I saw it,” she said. “ O Flossie, Flossie, there 
are some moments when we know that there is a 
God. I never thought that I would ever see such a 
day as this. Let me only put my hand on his arm, 
and tell him what husband was to him in the dark- 
ness in those nights on guard, and then I am willing 
to die 1 ” 

“ Let us follow the coach,” said Flossie, and she 
led the old woman after the crowd. Lady Lucy 
was all anticipation now. She repeated over and 
over — 

“ I wonder if I will ever lay my old hand on the 
arm of Lafayette ? ” 

She added twice — 

“ If I do I will ask him a question. You know 
the answer now.” 

In the carriage was a graceful and scholarly look- 
ing young man — George Washington Lafayette. 

All was life and gayety in the Hall. People of 
high rank were there, and princes and princesses in 
brocades and jewels. 

Joseph Bonaparte took Lafayette . up to his 


“WELCOME, LAFAYETTE!” 215 

private study, and the two sat down alone. That 
was a precious hour to each that they spent alone. 
They talked of the days when they moved nations, 
of the time when Europe was remapped by the 
changes that liberty demanded, of the future of free- 
dom and human rights, and the welfare of the 
w6rld. 

The great crowd waited outside in respectful 
silence for a time, then shouted — “ Welcome ! ” 

Would the form of Lafayette appear at the door? 
Would the door of the Hall open to them? 

The schools gathered near the door, and Flossie 
led Lady Lucy, trembling with delight, into the 
front of the children in white. 

The sun was slanting. Nightfall was coming. 
The shadows of the forests of the park lay darker 
and darker under the hills, and the waters lay like 
fields of crystal in the calm of the last hours of the 
day. 

Suddenly the door opened, and Joseph Bonaparte 
appeared there, and lifted his hand for the people 
to listen. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY FORGETS. 

Joseph Bonaparte stood there with lifted hand. 

The crowd was as still as the Delaware. All eyes 
were bent upon him. 

“ My friends, my honored guest expresses a desire 
to meet the people of Bordentown who have as- 
sembled here to do him honor. Will you enter 
now in the order in which you stand ? ” 

“You go first,” said Flossie to Little Lady Lucy. 
“ You stand nearest to the door.” 

“ I darsn’t,” said Little Lady Lucy, with an anx- 
ious face. 

“Yes, I dare,” she added with a sudden resolu- 
tion. “ My husband guarded Lafayette and beat 
down the snow of Valley Forge with frozen feet. 
Let me tell him that.” 

A strange thing happened. It filled the people 
with wonder. The officer-like form of a young 
man passed the Count, and came down the 
steps. 

He offered his arm to Little Lady Lucy. 

“ May I assist you, madam ? I am the son of 
Lafayette — George Washington Lafayette. The 

Count tells me that your husband guarded my father 
216 



The young man led the old wo7nan up the steps 



LITTLE LADY LUCY FORGETS. 


217 


in the dark days of Valley Forge. I shall deem it 
an honor if you will allow me to introduce you to 
my father.” 

“ Don’t cry,” whispered Flossie to Little Lady 
Lucy. 

The young man led the old woman up the 
steps'. 

The people beheld her slowly ascending the steps, 
bonnet, cap, the new gown and all. They began to 
cheer, and the children shouted — 

^^Nous vous ainions, Lafayette I ” 

How neat she looked ! She stopped at the head 
of the steps and turned her head. What a lovely 
face ! The people waved their handkerchiefs, and 
some cried. All of them were proud to have had a 
part in her very becoming costume. 

She passed into the house trembling. 

The young man led her to the venerable guest 
and said — 

My father, madam.” 

'‘You honor me indeed, madam. I am glad to, 
meet a patriot’s widow. The Count tells me that 
your husband once guarded the headquarters of 
Washington at Valley Forge. Madam,! am indeed 
glad to see you.” 

“ But I am no madam. I pick berries.” 

“ Do you not have a pension, madam? ” 

“ No, no, general. I wouldn’t seek to profit by 
what my country suffered for liberty. My husband 
left the print of his feet in the snows of Valley 
Forge, and he died from the exposure that he suf- 


2i8 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

fered there. But he did his duty, and I am content 
to pick berries for a living. I have almost every- 
thing without a pension.” 

“You should have that, also, madam. I must 
carry your case in my heart.” 

“ General ? ” 

“ Madam, at your service.” 

“ I have a question that I wish to ask you. It 
weighs heavy on my mind. I have carried it 
long in my heart. It has haunted me night and 
day.” 

“Ask it, madam. If possible, I will answer it. 
It will make me happy to render any service to a 
soldier’s widow. 

Her face wrinkled, and tears began to fill her eyes. 

“ I wished to ask you — what was it ? — I seem to 
disremember. Oh, general, I forget— it has all gone 
from me. I must go now and give place to the 
people. I will ask you some other time. Will you 
not come back again ? ” 

“ I hope to do so, madam, before I leave the 
country, and shall be glad to see you then.” 

“ May I lay my hand on your arm ? ” 

“ Certainly, madam.” 

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. 

Her face wrinkled again, and her tears began to 
flow. 

“ That’s all,” said she. “ I shall think of you 
through all of my life.” 

She dropped a courtesy, and went towards the 
door, and met Flossie there. 


LITTLE LADY LUCY FORGETS. 


219 


Have you learned what sans tache means?” 
asked Flossie. 

‘‘ No, no. I forgot — never, never tell that I for- 
got. You tell me now.’! 

“ No, no, pardon me. But father said you should 
be told the meaning of those words from the lips of 
Lafayette himself.” 

That is right, my little true heart. Lafayette 
is coming back again.”* 

I need not tell you of the reception of Lafayette 
at Philadelphia on the ‘‘ fifty-acre lot ” where the 
schools of the Delaware and the Schuylkill sung. 
Lady Lucy did not go there as she had once hoped, 
now that she had seen Lafayette. 

But Lafayette rode back again to visit Citizen 
Joseph before he left America. He came with four 
cream white horses, and with him rode the governor 
of Pennsylvania and his own son. 

* Lafayette before returning to France made a second visit to the 
Park. He had been staying with General Moreau at Trenton, and 
came down with his suite, by the White Horse bridge. He rode in 
a barouche, with his son, the Governor of Pennsylvania, and an- 
other gentleman. It was drawn by four cream-colored horses. Mr. 
Andrew Quintin, of Trenton, states he was but a little boy at the 
time, but well remembered being brought out to look at the grand 
cavalcade, as his father. Major Quintin, was one of the military es- 
corts of the Bucks County Light-horse, who accompanied the party 
down the Pennsylvania side. The volunteers were set down to a 
handsome dinner. The Marquis and Count rode around the town 
together in a barouche drawn by four horses, followed by a crowd of 
citizens, who cheered them. Lafayette spent one night at the Park. 
M. Sarrans, in his “ History of the Revolution of 1830,” published an 
interesting and very honorable correspondence between Joseph and 
Bonaparte Park and the Murats. 


220 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


He did not remain long. 

The Princess sent for Lady Lucy. She came now- 
in her sirnple dress. 

“ The soldier’s widow,” said Lafayette. I did 
not forget you. You will receive a pension.” 

The old woman’s face wrinkled. 

“ It is too much,” she said. 

“ Not too much for the widow of one whose feet 
stained with blood the snows of Valley Forge.” 

Marquis,” said Lady Lucy, I have a question 
to ask you. I forgot it before.” 

“Speak, good woman — I hope I can answer 
it.” 

“ Marquis, what does sans tache mean ? ” 

“ I can answer that. It means, my good woman, 
without a stain y 

“ And Auvergne sans tache means ? ” 

“ Auvergne without a stain. That was the motto 
of my heroes of Gatinais. They carried the day at 
Yorktown. I was born in Auvergne.” 

“ Thank ye — I understand it all now. Those are 
great words of destiny.” 

“So they proved in the battles for liberty in 
France ; so they were at Yorktown, and so may 
they be to the liberty of the human race. Auvergne 
sans tache — liberty sans tache everywhere.” 

She hobbled away on her crutch, crying and 
saying — 

“ I thank ye kindly.” 

But she found one of Joseph Bonaparte’s coaches 
at the door. She was a “ soldier’s widow ” — she had 


LITTLE LADY LUCY FORGETS. 221 


known it always, but had never felt the worth of 
the name so greatly before. 

After the festival for the birthday of Lafayette 
and the reception of the patriot, all thoughts in the 
town were turned towards the Christmas entertain- 
ment which Citizen Joseph had promised to make 
for the schools. He was. to tell the children then 
of the child whose love he carried in his heart. 

The season changed. The summer was long dark 
and ended — there were snowflakes in the air. 

The Christmas season came, and the schools and 
the teachers and Little Lady Lucy all gathered at 
the Hall on Christmas Eve. We must tell you 
what happened there. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


mallard’s CHRISTMAS STORY. THE IRON BOX ; 

OR, THE LITTLE WITCH FOXES OF PINGRINS. 

The Christmases of Joseph Bonaparte, at Borden- 
town, were events that were remembered for a gen- 
eration, and they deserved to be kept green in 
memory, for they sprang out of the love of a truly 
noble heart. 

Little Lady Lucy had heard that ex-King Joseph 
had in his grand house a very mysterious iron box, 
which was full of Christmas gifts, and which he 
opened to a few friends on Christmas Eves, after he 
had made all of his work-people presents. Mallard 
had been heard to say that there was a very mys- 
terious story connected with that same iron box. 
Now, as a report had gone around that there were 
mysterious passages under the great house in the 
new park at Bordentown, the legend of the iron 
box greatly disturbed Mother Lucv’s peace of 
mind. 

“ If I must, I must,” she was heard to say to her- 
self, as she rose and approached the ex-king under 
the trees in the cool shadows, one day. 

“ King Joseph ” 

“ Call me Citizen Joseph here,” said the ex-king ; 

222 


MALLARD’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 223 

“let the people all call me that. This is not a 
country of kings.” 

“ Citizen Joseph,” said Lady Lucy, “ I hope you 
will not think me bold. You have an iron box in 
your new house. Tell me, is it full of gifts, and has 
it a strange story? Citizen Joseph, what is the 
choicest gift that you ever received in your life?” 

The children gathered around Citizen Joseph, and 
Bellemere, the candy man, stood listening at the 
door. 

“ Well, well, good woman, — I will have to think. 
But if you, and the candy man, and the schoolmas- 
ter, and all the children in the school and out of it, 
will visit me on Christmas night at my house, you 
shall all be welcome, and I will ask Mallard, my 
good Shadow, to tell you the true story of the iron 
box, and I will show you the gifts that I keep in 
the box, and then I will tell you, it may be, what I 
regard as the choicest gift of all. 

The children cried again — 

“ Nous vous aimons ! ” and the news of Citizen 
Joseph’s Christmas invitation flew through the 
town. 

The children, and the schoolmaster, and Mother 
Lucy, and Bellemere, the candy man, could hardly 
wait for the long shadows of fall to go and the days 
of the evergreens in the windows to come. 

But Christmas Eve came, and it brought a curi- 
ous crowd to the great mansion in the park ; the 
children, Lady Lucy with her snuffbox, and Belle- 
mere ; with them came the selectmen, the squire’s 


224 the bordentown story-tellers. 


wife, and the minister ; but it was those who had 
crowned him under the trees that the ex-king 
treated as special guests. 

Joseph Bonaparte’s door seemed to open itself to 
the rustic visitors. How splendid was the long hall 
with the solemn portraits and the gleaming gold of 
its chandeliers ! There were great fires in all the 
rooms, and the reception rooms, filled with works of 
art from many lands, seemed to blaze like stars with 
reflected lusters. Those rooms had been trodden 
by what feet whose coming was fame, — by Lafa- 
yette, Adams, Webster, Stockton, and Clay, by the 
Murats, and by noble refugees from many lands! 
The door of Joseph Bonaparte’s heart was always 
as open as that of his mansion. 

The portly form of Citizen Joseph stood at the 
door with open arms to welcome the merry visitors. 

This is a night, sans ce'rhnonie' (without cere- 
mony). 

Sans cirhnonie, but when the rustic people lifted 
their eyes to the wall, their thrill of joy received a 
check I Before them in the light of the crystal 
chandelier hiing the portrait of Joseph Bonaparte in 
his coronation robes. Could it be the same man 
that had invited them there? 

Over a gleaming mantelpiece was the portrait of 
Napoleon. Was this man indeed his brother? 

The excited company was seated. In the middle 
of the principal room was a carved table, and at one 
end of this the ex-king sat down, and presently 
Mallard, his constant companion, his “ shadow,” 


MALLARD’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 225 


came in, and laid down on the table a purse of gold. 
The little visitors in the company heard it chink as 
it touched the mahogany, and their eyes enlarged, 
and there was a deep silence. What was the ex- 
king about to do ? 

I have a custom of remembering my little friends 
on Christmas Eve,” said the ex-king slowly, “ and I 
never did so with more pleasure than to-night, for it 
was you that crowned me under the trees.” 

The children looked at each other. 

“ The crown of withered laurel hangs on the wall 
over my portrait. You see it there. It has withered, 
but it will never wither in my heart. It was you that 
cried out on the road, ‘ Noiis vous ainions ! ’ and 
now I will say to you in return, may your Christmases 
be many and merry ! ” 

He rose and laid on the table the purse. He 
drew the string and it broke accidentally, and there 
poured out on the table gold eagles, and half and 
quarter eagles. For whom were these brought ? 

“ I will pick them up after Mallard’s story,” he 
said. 


The Story of the Little Foxes. 


My story is of Pringins in Switzerland, — began 
Mallard, rising at the end of the table in the dining- 
hall. — We lived there, my sire (Joseph) and 1. He 
purchased a chateau there, and expected to make it 
his home. It was a beautiful place. 

25 


226 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


One day a courier came to the place to friend 
Joseph to say that his brother Napoleon, the great 
Napoleon, had returned from exile, and desired him 
to repair to Paris at once. Great events were at 
hand. 

Friend Joseph was greatly affected by the news. 
He walked the house in deep thought, when sud- 
denly he turned to me and asked : ^ What shall we 
do with the iron box ? I would not dare to cross the 
frontier with it. We might be robbed.” 

“ Bury it here, sire,” I answered. 

“ Is there any place where it never could be 
found ? ’ asked he. 

“ There is one place where the iron box might be 
buried and never found,” said 1. 

“ Where?” asked friend Joseph. 

“ In the fox burrow amid the rocks in the oaks,” 
said I. 

We will go out together and bury the box,” 
he said. 

I shall never forget the night when we went out 
together to bury the iron box. 

The moon came out over the mountains, and 
the woods were so still that the air echoed every 
click of the spade against the rocks. We left the 
box some three feet in the earth, between two mov- 
able shelves of rocks, and marked the spot. 


On our coming to America and selecting Point 
Breeze here for our home, friend Joseph said to me 


MALLARD’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 


227 


“ I am going to send you to Belgium, to accom- 
pany my wife here. And I wish you to go to Prin- 
gins and recover the iron box. It contains the 
treasures I most value. The foxes know where it 
is buried, and you may not find it. You cannot 
tell what a fox may do.” 

I crossed the sea and found my lady Julie, friend 
Joseph’s wife, too broken in health to make the 
journey, and I went at once to Pringins, wondering 
if I would find the iron box amid the little witch 
foxes. 

The estate had passed into other hands. How 
was I to gain an entrance there ? What excuse 
could I give for desiring to dig in the fox burrow 
again ? It would be fatal to me to be discovered, 
digging for the treasure, or found carrying it away. 

Coal had been discovered in the district. 

I would go to the place in the guise of a collier, 
and ask to experiment there forxoal. 

I obtained permission to search for coal ; then 
there was such an experience as I never had before, 
and never hope to know again. 

I removed the. flat stones with a beating heart, 
and began to dig. Two feet of earth was easily 
thrown out upon the rocks. I drove my pick down 
another foot. My heart beat faster and seemed to 
stand still. Nothing was there! 

I dug again ; nothing ! Deeper; nothing ! This 
side, that side ; nothing, nothing ! 

As I sat on the earth, with the darkness of death 
in my brain, a strange thing startled me. The earth 


228 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-^TELLERS. 

at the bottom of the excavation moved. My nerves 
quivered. I looked down and hope revived. The 
earth moved again and slowly sank. What could- 
have caused the earth to move ? 

I gazed down into the hole in the earth with 
fixed eyes. Presently a little red head appeared in 
the earth, and disappeared. It was a fox. 

Was that a magic fox, and that a place of magic 
foxes? 

I leaped into the hole to begin digging again. 
I sank down, down, into a soft, yielding earth. My 
foot struck a hard substance. It was the iron box ! 
The weight of the world seemed to be removed from 
my soul. 

How came it there ? The little foxes had prob- 
ably burrowed under it, and it had sunk by its own 
weight into their burrows. 

“ Friend Mallard,” said the ex-king, “ bring the 
box into the room.” 

Mons. Mallard went out, and after a little time 
returned with the box. It was not large, nor very 
heavy, but it was strong. The children gathered 
about it and talked of the way that the little foxes 
had caused it to sink into the earth. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


CITIZEN JOSEPH’S CHRISTMAS STORY OF ^ THE 
BURIED JEWELS AND THE LITTLE PRINCE. 

The clock struck nine. 

Mallard, the Shadow, sat down by the iron box, 
which he had placed near him on the table. His 
eye never seemed to leave it. He rose and extin- 
guished a part of the lights in the room and hall, 
but his eye did not leave the iron box. He took 
from his pocket a key, and laid it on the box, and 
his eye was fixed upon the key. 

“ You may open it,” said Citizen Joseph to Mal- 
lard, in a very tender voice. Mallard used the key. 
The lid flew back, revealing only silk. Mallard 
stood holding his hand over the silk covering. 

“ It is thirty years ago,” said the ex-king, “ since 
there occurred a simple scene. It rises before me ; 
it is this : — 

Two brothers walked together in the sea air of 
Corsica. The elder held the younger by the hand, 
for he loved him. It was dark. The younger said, 
as the sea breeze rose, and the stars burned in the 
dusk : — 

“ ‘ Father is dead. You will have to be a father 
to us all now.’ 


230 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

That brother was Napoleon Bonaparte. The 
other was myself. 

“‘Yes, my heart will always be true to you,’ I 
said to him. ‘ To be true-hearted is more than any 
other thing. We shall never see father again. I 
was with him to the end.’ 

“ The stars burned brighter in the dark dusk of 
the sea, and the cool waves broke on the shore un- 
der the olive trees, when we two brothers, Napoleon 
and myself, said these words 

“ ‘Joseph, — you will always be a friend to me ? ’ 

I shall always be a brother, Napoleon.’ 

“‘Yes, but a friend is something more, Joseph. 

I love you.’ ” 

There were gems in the box. They burned. 
Gems were set in gold that burned. It was expect- 
ed that the ex-king of Spain would have jewels. 
Joseph Bonaparte had been the king of the lands of 
Columbus, of the mines of Peru, of the diamond 
mines of Brazil, of the river Esmeraldas. 

But the people present had never dreamed of such 
beautiful jewels. It seemed like the opening of a 
gate of heaven. 

Joseph Bonaparte took the jewels out of the box 
one by one. 

“ Friend Bellemere, what night is this ? ” 

“ Christmas Eve, the night of gifts.” 

“You have well said the night of gifts. I am go- 
ing to teach you all a lesson, this Christmas night, 
and one that has taken me a troubled life to 
learn.” 


CITIZEN JOSEPH’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 231 
He lifted a golden star. 

'‘I wore that when I stood by my brother Na- 
poleon in his coronation robes. It was a gift to me, 
— all these jewels were gifts to me, — they are the 
gifts of statesmen, princes and kings. 

“ I well remember that day, my friends, the day 
of the coronation, and a very strange thing that hap- 
pened. We were left alone for a moment, — we two 
brothers, who wandered the beach together as I 
have told you, Napoleon and I, — and what do you 
think the Emperor said to me ? Listen, and you 
shall have to-night the secrets of my heart. He 
said : ‘ What would father say if he were to see us 
now?’ I said to Napoleon, in those great days: 

* The Glorious Emperor will never replace to me 
the Napoleon I so much loved.’ 

“ Napoleon, O, Napoleon ! ” 

The children began to cry, and even the chin of 
Lady Lucy began to quiver. 

“ I seem to see the coronation day again when I 
wore that star. I seem to hear the people shout- 
ing, and all the bells of Paris ringing. I seem to 
hear Notre Dame thunder, and see my brother plac- 
ing with his own hands the crown upon his head, and 
the Pope standing by to anoint him with the holy 
oil of Clovis. But I care not for the golden star.” 

He lifted another jewel and held it up. It was a 
diamond; it blazed as with a celestial light. It 
flashed suddenly, but he shook his head. 

‘‘It came to me from Naples, but I don’t care 
for it ! ” 


232 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


He lifted a crown, a rim of gems, held it up and 
said : “ That was given to me in Spain. Friends, 
Napoleon gave me the crown of Spain. Here is his 
letter ; let me read a word of it to you.” 

Joseph Bonaparte lifted a letter out of the burn- 
ing jewels and read : — 

“ ‘ King Charles,’ by his treaty, surrenders the 
crown of Spain to me. The nation asks for a king. 
I destine the crown of Spain to you. Napo- 
leon.’ ” 

His lips trembled as he spoke the word Napo- 
leon. 

Friends, how happy that letter made me ! 
What more could a brother do than to give me the 
crown of Spain and the Indies ? Here are my 
jewels of Spain.” 

The ex-king laid them out on the table, the gems 
burning in eternal light, and said, sadly : — 

But I do not care for them all. Brother Napb- 
leon came to write to me: ‘You are no longer 
King of Spain.’ It was a letter of reproach. And 
what then were all these jewels? I do not care for 
them. 

“ I replied to Brother Napoleon in these words, 
which burned in my heart : ‘ During your whole life, 
I shall be your best, perhaps your only friend ! ’ ” 

The clock struck ten. His face turned toward 
the simple company, that face that had reviewed 
armies : “ Listen, let me recall to you another 

scene. Listen, my good neighbors. You are all of 
yalue that I have left me now. 


CITIZEN JOSEPH’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 233 

“ On July 16, 1815, a courier announced in Paris : 
— “ The Emperor has just gained a complete vic- 
tory over the Prussian and British armies under the 
united command of Lord Wellington and Marshal 
Blucher.’ 

“ How Paris shouted ! How hearts leaped ! 

“ Three hours passed. There came another courier 
to announce : — 

“ ‘ Our army is overwhelmed. It is night at 
Waterloo. Armies of men are dead and dying. 
We know not where the Emperor has gone.’ What 
was he —Napoleon,— a lost Emperor? 

“ Neighbors, let me recall another scene of which 
the world has known little. It was on the evening 
after Waterloo. Let me draw for you the picture. 
It is the twilight of one of the longest days of the 
year, on the Waterloo battle-field. The stars come 
out, and make their march before the turning 
earth, as it ever was, as it ever will be. Sixty 
thousand men lie dead and dying under the moon 
and stars on that humid June night ! Think 
of that ; my neighbors of Bordentown : think of 
that ! 

The last charge has been made. Ney has thun- 
dered, but between fire and foe was the sunken road. 
The poppies bloom there now. 

“ It is night ! I can see it in my dreams. And 
where is the Emperor, my brother, now ? The moon 
brightens. Blucher is pursuing the scattered rem- 
nants of the ruined army. The last .cannon is fired 
on the plain of Mont St. Jean. They are covering 


234 the BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

the dead, — they throw them into trenches, dead and 
living, — into wells. The dead and dying are piled 
together in the sunken road at Waterloo. 

“ Can you imagine the scene ? 

The world is growing silent now as we will fancy 
we see it, at Waterloo amid the passing breath from 
out crushed hearts, amid the odors of broken corn 
and barley ! 

“ Napoleon, — where is Napoleon now ? 

“ There is an orchard by the wayside. The trees 
are dark and still. One does not hear the great 
agony of the battlefield there as it expires. Horse- 
men dash by like mad, but they stop not to peer 
into these shades in whose branches the mother bird 
hovers over her young. Into their shadows goes 
the predestined Corsican, my brother, Napoleon, 
my heart, he whose hand I held when a boy ; and 
he stops there to breathe,— alone. The world has 
departed from him,— the stars know him no more. 
Alone ! alone ! 

“ Napoleon hides in that orchard for one hour 
alone, and he thinks. Of what does he think in that 
hour? His life has told me all.” 

The ex-king stood there silent, with lifted hand, 
but his fancy kindled again, and with quivering lip 
he spoke of the night scene again : — 

“Horsemen dash by. Whither? What mattered 
it whither they were going? He was alone in the 
orchard with his soul. What were nations ? What 
was life? He had shaken the earth, but the earth 
was still then. In the silence of the orchard under 


CITIZEN JOSEPH’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 235 

the moon and stars, there were but three things left, 
— God, the soul, and responsibility ! 

“ My friends, at that hour his heart turned to 
me. He rode back to Paris, and my heart sought 
his. 

“ ‘ Brother,’ I said to him, ‘ I offer my whole for- 
tune to you, and all that I possess.’ ” 

Ex-King Joseph dropped his hand upon his heart 
and sat down amid the lights of the jewels, saying : 

“ Napoleon, O, Napoleon ! ” 

The room was still. Mallard stood silent. The 
children looked frightened, they were not ac- 
customed to hear such a Christmas call as that. 

“Sire,” said Bellemere, “you said that you would 
tell us what was the choicest gift you ever received. 
What may that gift be ? Here are the choicest gifts 
that could fall to the lot of any man, even these of 
the great Napoleon.” 

“Yes, trader of Bordentown, but they burn cold, 
cold, cold. I said to the deputation who came to 
offer me the Mexican crown: — 

“ ‘ I have won two crowns. I have no wish to 
wear a third ! ’ ” 

The Story of the Choicest Gift of All. 

He rose again, and spoke to the little company as 
if to an assembly of nobles. 

“ This is the night of gifts. I have shown you 
the gifts made to me by Naples and Spain, and the 
gems of coronation. They are cold. There are 
better gifts of life than those.” 


236 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 


He pushed aside some gems, 

“ I have such a gift that I now keep among my 
jewels in this strong iron box.” 

The clock struck eleven. 

The ex-king drew out of the iron box a little plain 
frame entwined with curls of hair. He turned it to 
the light. 

“ Bellemere, trader of Bordentown, look at that ! ” 

Bellemere took the plain little hair-circled frame 
from the hand of Joseph. In it was the picture of a 
child, a very simple thing. 

“ His child,” said the ex-king. Napoleon’s — the 
young King of Rome. For that child he sacrificed 
everything dear to life ! The child was all to him, 
himself again ! When the child was born, he shouted 
' Now is born the King of Rome ! ’ If I ever leave 
America, it will be to give myself to the cause of that 
child. 

“Friends, listen. That child was the heart of 
Napoleon’s own heart, and when he was drawing 
near the shadows of death, — what did he say ? He 
said: ‘I can trust my boy to Joseph.’ Friends, he 
was true.” 

Every eye filled with tears. 

“That is my choicest gift. The choicest present 
is that which represents the truest heart and the most 
complete confidence of love. Those dying words of 
Napoleon were more than jewels. It is presents that 
are hearts that we treasure most. He gave his boy 
to me in his last dream of life. What are jewels to 
that curl of hair? ” 


CITIZEN JOSEPH’S CHRISTMAS STORY. 237 

He turned to the reception room and gathered up 
the gold coins ; he came back and arranged the 
coins, and put one of them into each hand, with a 
manner as beautiful as at the courts of Naples and 
Madrid. 

The children tried to say, “ Votes nous aimons ! ” 
the song that they had sung to Lafayette, but their 
voices faltered. They could not sing from such full 
hearts. 

“There never was a Christmas like this one,” said 
Mother Lucy, turning a gold eagle in her hand. 

The schoolmaster said : “ We seem to have met 

the soul of Napoleon to-night, and we have seen 
that it is more than fame to be true to a brother, to 
be true to all. We may all be that ! ” 

And the clock struck twelve as the sleigh bells 
jingled in the great park, and “ Vousnous aimons ! ” 
drifted back in the starlit air. 

We should say here historically that Joseph Bon- 
aparte left Bordentown for the sake of giving his life 
to the son of Napoleon. The boy had ill health, 
and the count went to be with him, to give him his 
strength, counsel and help. For this purpose he 
gave up Bordentown, but when he arrived at London 
he found that the son of Napoleon, the child of his 
love, the young king of Rome, was dead. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

STORY THE LAST — THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 

Pierre told stories to the good Dame’s school on 
nearly every Saturday afternoon during the winter. 
He sought for these stories in the literature of many 
lands. He believed in the study of stories, and that 
nothing more tended to form the character of chil- 
dren than the best stories of many lands. He held 
such stories to be parables of life. 

We have given you a Christmas story, we will close 
our book of stories with an Easter tale. 

At Easter Pierre related a story of the life that 
rises above life, and which he called— 

The Child of the Mine. 

I was crossing Wales from America, when I heard 
of a strange child, in a seaport -town. 

I was in way to Italy and had stopped at a Welsh 
inn, where I was called “ The American.” It was 
there I heard of the strange child. It was in this 
manner — 

The sun was rising over the gray earth ; afar 
rolled the ocean, and the lights in the light-houses 
were going out, over the tilting sails. A rude voice 
broke upon the air. 

238 


THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 


239 


“ G’lang ! And never the light of the sun will ye 
see again, and never the breath of the sea will ye 
breathe again — why should ye now ? Are donkeys 
better than folks? ” The driver’s name was Daniel 
Dhu. 

‘‘ Daniel,” said I, “ and why do you say that, Dan- 
iel Dhu ? ” He was driving three nimble donkeys 
down the hill. 

“ Morning, my friend. And why do I talk to the 
donkeys ? Do you know what we are going to do 
with them ? We are going to lower them down the 
shaft into the mine. Ah, that is hard now ! The 
nibbling little creatures will never nibble any more. 
They won’t be so nimble a year from now as they 
are to-day. The roads are long and dark over which 
they will have to travel, till they dry up, and drop 
down. I pity ’em ; my heart is like a too deep 
well ; I can feel. I feel for everybody that is disap- 
pointed in this hard world, and for all the hearts 
that are hurt, be they men or little animals. I 
would not stop the red current of life anywhere, 
nor shut out the light from any eye, be it a man’s 
or an animal’s. ‘ Help everybody and hinder 
nobody ’ — that is my motto. I even pity little 
Mary — it may be the donkeys will be company for 
her.” 

Who is little Mary, friend Daniel ? ” 

Haven’t you heard? She is the child of the 
mine. She’s never seen the top of the earth. But 
she’s going to see it some day, if old Daniel lives — 
some Sunday, it may be, when the weather is warm, 


240 THE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

and the south wind calls up the daffodils, and the 
cuckoos — Ha-a-a! Ha-a-a ! Turnabout there, you 
onery little scatter-foot ! Ha-a-a ! ” 

His last imperatives were made to a fat little 
donkey, that had turned about on smelling a tar-like 
odor from the cabins around the entrance to the 
shaft. 

So these little creatures were to be lowered down 
to work in the mines, on miles of dark, smoky 
streets that run through the coal measures under the 
earth, the rocks, and the sea. 

And there was a child there, — a child who had 
never seen the top of the bright and blooming earth, 
never seen the sun rise or set, or looked out from 
any door mantled with morning-glories and sweet 
dews, on the purple splendors of the sky or the cer- 
ulean hazes of the sea. 

I stood there and dreamed. How I would like to 
meet that child — little Mary of the mine — and lift 
her upon the car, some morning in spring, and hear 
what she would say as she beheld the ‘‘ top of the 
earth ” for the first time, and saw the hawthorns in 
bloom, and heard the birds singing ! 

I was stopping at an old inn in the country town, 
a mile or more from the place, a Welsh town amid 
the bare, rolling hills. An old, church with a great 
square tower rose over a little wilderness of crofters’ 
houses, and that was all. No, not all; for the 
tower, centuries old, contained a chime of melodious 
bells — golden bells, silver bells, crystal bells, they 
seemed to be — that rang sweet and low and far. I 


THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 


241 


wondered if little Mary ever heard them down in 
the mine. But the chimes played tunes only on 
Christmas evening, Trinity Sunday and Easter 
morning. 

The child of the mine haunted me. She seemed 
to me like a spirit in a tomb, and I imagined how 
her first visit to the world of the sun and fields and 
waters would be to her like what we fancy might 
be an ascension into heaven. 

The next morning I was studying an old stone 
cross before the inn, a cross that some generations 
ago had been used to preach Christ and cause 
honesty in dealing on the fair-ground which was at 
that time a part of the gray churchyard under the 
trees. Suddenly old Daniel Dhu came halting a- 
round the corner of the inn. 

“ The top of the morning,” he said. 

“ Daniel, what you said to me yesterday holds 
me. About the child in the mine who never saw 
the fields or the sun.' Why have you never given 
her a lift into the air, Daniel?” 

Don’t you know — that could not be, only at 
some set time. Her bones are just like chalk — she 
has the crikets. Children do who live about the 
mines.” 

‘‘ Daniel, take me down the shaft and let me see 
her.” 

“An’ sure I will: this afternoon toward evening 
— I must get the evergreens ready now.” 

It was the day before Christmas and the crofters 
were bringing evergreens to the churchyard. The 
16 


242 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

old bellman was to ring the melodious chimes in the 
gray sunset — the chimes that had rung for many 
generations of men now slumbering under the yews, 
perhaps since the Wars of the Roses, or the days 
of the English Plantagenets. The afternoon was 
wild and raw. The dead leaves whirled over the 
frozen ground in scattered flakes of snow, and the 
sea curled white in the long, narrowing distances. 

“ Come,” said old Daniel, hugging himself as he 
came out of the church, “ I have fixed the bell 
ropes. We will go down now.” 

Down into the streets of the under-world we 
went in the torch-lighted car. The car stopped, and 
we stepped out into a great chasm, into a town of 
coal, from which far, far away, ran railways, to 
whose cool, sulphurous airs, guarded lamps lent an 
atmosphere such as painters have pictured Hades. 
We were met at the landing by men whose white 
eyes gave a spectral aspect to their black faces. 
What muscles stood out on the men’s bare arms ! 
What a hungry eagerness they showed to know why 
I had come ! 

“ The traveler,” said old Daniel to them, wants 
to see Mary — rickety Mary — Mary of the forge — 
who has never seen the top of the blessed she 
earth, more’s the pity, and a shame to such as 
we.” 

Daniel led me along until we came to a great 
forge, that was now and then gleaming red and ex- 
piring. Near the forge was an apartment of heavy 
timbers, and there on a wide couch lay a slender 


THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 243 

form with a face as white as the snow falling above, 
on the “top of the earth.” Before the wide en- 
trance to the apartment, which had no door, stood 
a portly woman, with cheeks like bags, and arms as 
large as firkins. 

Hoot, mon ! she said in a Scottish accent. 
“ Wha a’ you bringing here now, auld Daniel 
Dhu?” 

“ It is a traveler. ” 

She turned and lighted all the lamps about the 
room. She then faced me. There were tears in 
her eyes, and they made white lines on her dark 
cheeks. She approached me, and then led me to 
the bed of the child of the mine. 

“ Mary,” said she, — “ that’s my Mary. Her 
bones are that light and brittle, poor child, that she 
has never been up to the regions over us. I hope 
she will be able to go some time. Mary, here is 
a traveler he — has come to see you. Think of 
that ! Wot a heart he must have ! ” 

The little girl drew herself up on the pillow 
carefully. 

“ Lightly, lightly, Mary ! ” said the woman. She 
started, then put her eye to the opening of the 
shaft. 

A procession was passing, singing, and the music 
seemed like some far-off voices in the sky, as it 
came down the flume. It was a funeral procession, 
and the men were singing on the cold,^ flaky way to 
the churchyard, the strange old funeral chant whose 
words had been written by Williams, the sweet 


244 '1'HE BORDENTOVVN STORY-TELLERS. 

hymn-writer of Wales, after the earthquake at 
Lisbon: 

“ If thou wouldest end the world, O Lord, 

Accomplish first thy promised word, 

And gather home with one accord. 

From every part thine own.” 

The child of the mine listened. 

“ I am glad to see you,” said the girl at last to 
me. “ I dreamed that you would come. Why are 
the men singing ? ” 

“ They are going to the grave,” said I. 

“ An’ what is the grave ? ” 

“ It is a place where they lay away the dead.” 

“ Who are the dead ? ” said the girl with an eager 
look in her eyes. 

“ Hoot, mon !— Sh ! I never have said anything 
about death and the like of that to little Mary. She 
has enough to bear, without knowing all. I have 
just told her that God sends for people to live with 
him forever ; that they go up, you see. I move her 
bed before the opening of the flume on bright 
nights, so that she can see the stars, and I tell her 
that the stars are the lights in the houses of God.” 

She looked at me to see if I approved her course, 
when she suddenly raised her arms. “ Listen to 
that now ! ” 

The chimes were beginning to ring. We all list- 
ened — they seemed low and far. 

“ Beautiful ! beautiful ! ” said the child. “ This 
is a beautiful world, and I am so glad, so glad, oh, 
so glad I am here ! They will play my song next,” 


THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 245 

she went on. “ That makes me so happy, oh, so 
happy ! ” 

I took the child's white hand. “ Would you not 
like to go with me up above, some day, where the 
chimes play in the air ! ” said I. 

“ It is a good heart that you have,” said the wo- 
man, “ but that could never be. Not a bone of her 
would be safe, or left. She is all that I have to 
comfort me down here, where I must work and slave 
on to the end.” 

“ I would bring down the cradle for her,” 
said I. 

“ An’ would you do that ? Would you ? Say, 
mon, who are you ? You are not Christ ? You 
look like him — I’ve seen him.” 

“ Where, my good woman ? ” 

“In my prayers — ’fore God I have. Yes, yes, I 
see him now.” 

“ Where, my good woman ? ” • 

“ Where ! Why should you ask that now ? I 
see him in you. He is not dead. But it is cold 
now. Little Mary could never bear the cold now 
even in a cradle.” 

“ But spring will come, and the south winds will 
come, and there will be cu,ckoos in the orchards, 
and larks in the air, and violets in the moss, and the 
hedgerows will all be burning bushes. I am coming 
back here in the spring,” I continued, “ with the 
birds, the flowers, and all. I am coming back at 
Easter-tide, and the chimes will ring again. Then 
I will come down here with a cradle, and we will 


246 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

lift little Mary up into the warm air and the sun- 
shine, and we will hear the Easter bells ring ‘ When 
He cometh,’ and we will see the people as they 
carry the Easter flowers to the church.” 

“ That will make us happy all the time now, just 
to think of it, won’t it, mother? We will talk of it 
every night.” 

I turned away from the room in the cavern, and 
passed by the great forge, and rose again to the re- 
gions of fields, the sea, and the air. The funeral 
procession had an hour or more ago left their bur- 
den in the earth, and the people were gathering in 
the church, and the chimes were still playing : 

“ Noel, noel, noel, noel ! 

Born is the King of Israel ! ” 

I dreamed of little Mary, the child of the mine. 
I riever had anticipated an Easter so much before. 
On that: day she would feel the air, and breathe the 
flowers, and hear the songs of a new world. 

When I next beheld the square tower rising from 
the lone crags, the companion of the clouds and 
storm in the winter weather, spring was bright on 
the hills. The breath of April was touching the 
gardens with the hues of the iris, and the birds were 
clapping their wings with the mysterious joy that 
comes out of the inward world from the Eternal 
Good that beats in the heart of the Everywhere. 

I found old Daniel Dhu at the crumbling stone 
cross again. It was in the dusky gold of a long April 
twilight. To-morrow would be Easter, and the 


THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 247 

sturdy old man had set the ropes of the bells 
again. 

“ You look well,” he said. 

“ How is it with the child of the mine ? ” I asked. 

He shook his head. “ She is waiting for you to 
come; just holding on, like a leaf on a juiceless 
stem — the doctor says she cannot last long. It’s 
my mind that she would have gone long ago, only 
she has been waiting for you to come.” 

The red sunset died on the sea, and the evening 
star came out like a fire in the ashes of the afterglow. 
I went to the inn, and met the village doctor there. 

“ Have you brought the cradle ? ” said he. 

“ Yes,” said I, “ to lift that child into the air of 
spring has been to me a hope, for I have fancied 
that her joy will be like that we may all feel some 
day, some day ” 

She will last until to-morrow,” said the doctor ; 
“ she will last till you come. Life often holds on 
till a set time, when one has a purpose to fulfil.” 

It was a balmy Easter. The sun lighted up the 
hills, bursting from clouds of pearly light upon a 
purple sky. I took the cradle and went to the 
shaft house. The doctor and Daniel Dhu followed 
me, and we three were lowered down to the silent 
chamber of toil. 

The lamps were few ; the forge was dead. A 
form rose up in the timber-room where the child of 
the mine had lain. She came out to meet us like 
a shadow, the mother again. 

“ Follow me.” 


248 THE BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS. 

I followed. The doctor passed me, and bent over 
the bed. 

“ Mary ! ” he said. 

The blue eyes of a wasted form opened. “ Has 
he come ? ” whispered the white lips. 

“Yes, he has come to make up his jewels.” 

“ And will I see the world above ? ” 

“ Yes ; it is Easter.” 

We laid her gently into the cradle, and covered 
her with the warm wraps I had brought. Then we 
bore her out to the car, threw over her face a thin veil, 
and ascended into the light, and set her down in 
the shadows of the yews. 

The air thrilled her. We removed the veil and 
lifted her head on the pillow. A bird sang in the 
tree. Afar in the full tide of glory rolled the sea. 

“ America,”— she called me that— “ America. I 
never thought to see a world like this. Oh, beauti- 
ful, beautiful, beautiful ! I am so sick that I must 
go to sleep. It overflows me. America? ” 

“ What, Mary?” 

“ The place is so wide, the sea is all wide, there 
is room here for everybody. Why should my 
mother go down there again to work ? ” She seemed 
to shrink away, and then she said. Are not the 
folks all good here where there is so much room ? ” 

A red robin passed with song on his wings. She 
brightened. “ I know him — a fairy of the air — 
Daniel used to tell me.” 

One brought her a flower. “ I know— it fell 
down from the sun with the raindrops and snow.” 



The child of mine gaxed on the children in white. 



THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 249 

Her blue eyes lighted and faded. “ I can see you, 
mother, now, all in the light. You are beautiful. 
America? ” 

“ What, my angel ? ” 

Don’t let my mother go down again. How 
could the people of the chimes let us live down 
there ? ” 

We will not let you go down there again,” said I. 
“ Never you care for me. I am willing to go 
away to go to sleep — to go out. But, America, 
mother, mother, poor mother ! Don’t let her go 
down there out of all the glory. I’m sleepy now. 
America ? ” 

“ I am listening.” 

“ Where am I going next ? ” 

“ Gentle one, you will ascend.” 

“ Again, America ? ” 

Again, my child, out of my arms to God.” 

Is the world beautiful there ? ” 

“ Yes, my own.” 

Is it beautiful, beautiful?” 

“ It is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful ! ” 

Is the Christ there?” 

‘‘ He is there.” 

The chimes burst on the air in golden voices. 

The choir children marched out of a chapel into 
the open yard in the path leading to the church. 

The child of the mine gazed on the children in 
white as they moved toward the chuich door singing. 

“ Angels ! ” she said. “ I have been told of angels 
by Daniel, but I never— expected— to see— them.” 


250 THE R0RDP:NT0VVN STORY-TELLERS. 

Her thin voice gasped and faltered. “ He is com- 
ing ! ” she said. “ I am sleepy now.” 

A shadow cooled the trees as a white morning 
cloud drifted across the path of the sun. She lay in 
the shadow — changing. 

“ He is coming,” said the poor woman. She knelt 
down, bent her head and clasped the thin hands in 
her own. 

The eyelids of the child fell. There was a little 
spasm. Life stopped, and the people came on their 
way to the church and dropped flowers into the 
cradle, and then passed by, and the minister came 
and said : 

“ And a cloud received her out of our sight ! It 
is Ascension ! ” 

So ends our narrative of the story of the Borden- 
town Story-Tellers. 

I have put into the book stories that have 
haunted me, that I would be glad to have told in 
American schools, after the Swiss manner, — stories 
that teach life, build character; and stimulate a love of 
noble conduct in life. I have selected Bordentown 
for the scene of this story-telling, for if there is any 
place in America that might furnish a situation for 
such stories it was Bonaparte Park on the Delaware, 
at the time of the visit of Lafayette. 


In the heroic Square of Paris, 1890, the children 
of America will again meet the form of Lafayette. 


THE CHILD OF THE MINE. 


251 

They will place it there — a memorial eternal ; a 
memory of Auvergne sans tache^ an object lesson 
for the liberty of mankind. No men of the world 
ever received a nobler memorial. 

The dedication of that monument, begins a new 
age that “ a little child shall lead ! ” — the Kinder- 
garten Age. 





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